Matched
by The Auburn Girl
Summary: When you turn 18, the Society Matches you with the person you are most compatible with. He or she is your Match, the person you will marry and start a family with. Belle doesn't want a Match—she isn't ready. It's even worse when she finds out her Match is a Gold. -See A/N for details.
1. The Match Banquet

**Yes, this should be listed as a crossover, but I'm not going to list it as one :P or else no one would see it. This story is based on Ally Condie's "Matched" series. **

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For perhaps the hundredth time this night I feel a wave of nausea wash over me. My palms are sweaty and I'm jittery. Across from me sits my father and mother, both conversing with Red's parents. Unlike me, _Red _isn't nervous. She's a ball of energy, excited for the Match Banquet. She prays it's Peter she is matched with. _I _have no preference—no idea who the Society has picked for me to spend the rest of my life with.

The most probable outcome is that I will be Matched with a young man I've never met before who is from a different city. But if that's the case, I'll see a brief, live image of him in a different City Hall at the Banquet.

"Belle, you look ready to faint," Red teases. Her green eyes are alight with the lights of the city. The air train's spherical glass doesn't do much to block them.

I look up from my hands. "Really? I look that bad?"

"You look gorgeous, sweetheart," my mother interjects gently.

"Maybe you should take a green tablet," Ruby adds.

"No!" My father's voice comes out rougher than he intends because he quickly repeats the word softly and says, "Being nervous is part of the experience. Wouldn't want to ruin _that_ would we?" It's a bald-faced lie. In truth, my father hates the emergency pack we all carry. Every pack has three tablets—one green, one blue, one red. The green tablet offers immediate calm. The blue tablet allows one to survive for days without food or water (only to be used in an emergency). No one knows what the red tablet does—only that we're supposed to swallow it when ordered to by Society Officials.

My father despises the Society, but he never voices his opinions for fear of punishment because the Society is always listening and watching. He has been cited for misconduct before and we can't afford another. Only when our family is completely secluded does he speak of his disdain.

But tonight is not about him or his beliefs. Tonight is about me. So I nod at his comment, playing along, and gaze out the air train's windows.

The night is speckled with fantastic stars, casting a friendly glow over the city. It's ironic, really. The sky is untouched, _free_ while I am about to be chained to some eighteen year-old boy I've never laid eyes on. I should probably be excited like Red right now or like the thousands of other girls who have been waitingfor _years_ to know their Match. _They_ have been dreaming of this moment their whole lives. They—like 93% of the Matchees—are most likely nervous.

The key difference between me and them is that I'm not excited. Nervous? Yes. Excited? No. I don't like the idea of _anyone _telling me who I shall be partnered with even if the Society has 'Matched' me with my 'best' candidate, scientifically proven.

"Look, we're here!" Ruby cries, literally bouncing in her seat. Her eyes are trained on the rapidly approaching City Hall. It is enormous and grandiose, just as the Society made it to be.

My hands skim down my sapphire-colored dress. The soft fabric flatters my slim figure and enhances the azure in my eyes and I hope the young man I am Matched with will think it lovely on me.

I don't have time to prepare myself before the air train pulls up to City Hall and opens its doors. Red and her parents step off first, heading for City Hall. My mother and father disembark, and it's only when they turn back and gaze at me that I realize I'm still aboard. With tempered steps, I ease off the train's platform.

It is only the three of us tonight. My little sister—Rose—is too young to come to the Match Banquet. The first one you attend is always your own, so in eight years (when she turns eighteen) she'll be going to the same City Hall I am walking towards right now.

Eight years... For some reason I already feel sorry for her.

Eventually, we make it inside and are seated in a corner of the room. Tables line the hall, showing off hundreds of Matchees and their families, and it is easy to identify the Matchees; we are younger than all the others and are dressed in beautiful flowing dresses and tailored suits. Everyone else is plainly dressed, so we stand out like beacons amidst a sea of darkness.

"Look at the china," my mother whispers, amazed. "It's beautiful..."

My father harrumphs softly and lets his eyes trail around the room. I spot Red nearby and give her an insincere smile. The girl is literally _shivering _in anticipation, while I sit here wondering if my world is about to fall into pieces.

Mother goes on about the furniture, the flowers, and the chandeliers. She has an appreciation for these sorts of things. I don't. Pretty much the only thing I appreciate is books, so her oohs and awes are almost enough to try my already-stretched patience. It's only when an Official speaks that she quiets.

"Please be seated. Dinner is about to be served."

For the life of me, I don't understand how _any _Matchee can have an appetite at such an important banquet as this. When my eyes flit about the room to see how some are doing, I notice a girl in a turquoise dress staring at her plate of steak, roasted potatoes, and greens with an empty expression. My heart goes out to her because I know I won't be able to eat any morsel of food either.

The plate I am given remains untouched through dinner, even though my parents try to prompt me into eating something. Music is played as _they_ eat and enjoy their meal, and according to my mother, the chocolate cake is to die for.

"We are ready to announce the Matches," the announcer says, and those few words bring fresh fear running through my system. I'm not ready. And nothing could be more terrifying.

Still, I force myself to watch calmly as my fellow Matchees, one-by-one, stand and present themselves before the screen that will show us our Match.

There's a system to the Matching. All of the City Halls across the country are filled with people, the Matches being announced in alphabetical order according to the girls' last names. Unlike us, the boys will have no warning when their names are called. I pity them.

One after another a girl stands and sees her Match for the first time. The image is brief, but revealing and final. After that, each Matchee is given a silver box by a hostess. The silver box contains a microcard with background about his or her Match. Later, the silver boxes will be used to house the rings for the Marriage Contract, which is one year from now.

My last name is French, so it doesn't take long before the announcer is calling my name, "Isabelle Marie French!" and I have to stand and face the screen.

My mother squeezes my hand before I ease up out of my chair. I pray that my outward demeanor shows _some _semblance of calm because, inside, I'm screaming and crying at the same time. My Match—the man I will marry and start a family with—is about to be displayed on the blank screen. I will try to look appealing. For his sake and mine.

But nothing happens.

I stand and look at the screen, and, as time goes by, the screen does not flicker to life and show my Match. It can only mean one thing...

All I can do is watch with my head held high and feel as a small flame of hope ignites in my chest. Any other girl would be mortified. But I'm silently happy to see that the Society has not found a Match for me. Whispers rise through the room, like birds fluttering their wings under the dome of City Hall and all I want to do is laugh. All that worrying for _this_!

My happiness is shattered when the hostess says, smiling: "Your Match is here this evening." Shit. My eyes scan the room. If my Match is here, he might be someone I know, someone I've seen at Second School and have spoken with—

"Rumford Nicholas Gold."

The name and the gasps of the crowd ring in my ears as a slim figure rises across the room. His dark eyes meet mine and a wolfish smile spreads across his lips.

Oh no. No. No. No! Any other person but him.

I force another smile, but now my insides are burning with worry because I know Rumford Gold. We go to the same Secondary School and have spent time working on projects together. He's always treated me well, but he treats everyone else as if they are below him. He's brilliant and clever and powerful. No one messes with him.

To make matters worse, his father is a key Official in the Society (_very _powerful, rich, and influential). Because he is my Match, I will marry him and bear his children. Live in the same house as him. _Conform _to his way of thinking—believe that the Society is good, not bad like my father says.

Yet a part of me has to wonder why and how Rumford Gold is my supposed other half. The Society has ordained him as my most compatible partner, so maybe we are cut out for each other after all? But the pessimistic side of me whispers _"bullshit"_.

My eyes hone in on his as clapping breaks out. There is wicked glee in them...and if the shiver running up my spine doesn't deceive me, there is desire in them as well. I'm utterly shocked. It's all in those amber eyes of his. He _wanted _me to be his Match, is _pleased _to have me for his partner.

In a year's time we'll be married through the Marriage Contract, and then he'll have me all for himself.

The realization is more terrifying then I ever imagined. Though, the fear is underlined with hope. Rumford has never mistreated me; he has always spoken to me as if I was his equal. He's always the gentleman holding doors open for me. It's just that we've hardly spoken to each other and he manipulates and uses others...

The clapping eventually dies. Rumford holds my gaze fiercely for another moment before sitting back down in his chair. It is then that I notice his father and mother beside him, practically oozing regality and power. My stomach churns horribly.

"I cannot let this happen," my father hisses lowly so that only my mother and I can hear. To fight the Match would cause severe punishment or worse. I can't let my family be harmed. I _will not _let anything happen to them because of me.

I've read somewhere that doing the brave thing allows bravery to follow. So I swallow my absolute fear and worry, and decide to do the brave thing. "Hush...he is my Match. I will go with him," I declare quietly as the Matching continues.

The hostess brings me my silver box, and I know that in the early hours of the morn, I will open the box and insert the microcard into the television. There is no doubt in my mind that Rumford will do the same.

Slowly, my eyes rise from the box and meet his again. They are not as dark as before, for they hold a hint of softness and affection in them. And although I am afraid of what our future holds—yes, _our _future, for he is mine as much as I am his—I think for the first time that this Match might work.

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**A/N: I don't plan on adding to this, but I do plan on doing a Promptathalon on Tumblr for this. Keep an eye on the horizon! I normally don't write in 1st person or Present Tense, so I'm sorry if I made a few mistakes here and there. Did you guys like it? What do you think?**


	2. Prompt: Pre-Match

**Hey, guys! I've decided to add the prompts I receive on Tumblr to the story. If I have time in the future, I may think of adding to the story (plot) itself, but for now it's just prompts. I had nothing to do last night so I asked for them. **

**Anon on Tumblr prompted: "I'd love to see more of their interactions before the Matching or Gold's perspective!"**

* * *

"Belle." He says my name softly, plucking the book I am reading from my fingertips.

Crap. I look up, worried that he'll be angry I ran off and ignored our scheduled time to work on our project. Yet, I find no malice in his amber eyes or slack expression, and that's surprising because Rumford Gold always has a dangerous gleam in his eye.

He raises his eyebrows when I say nothing. It's clear he's disappointed.

Sighing, I reach out to take the book back but he pulls it out of my reach. "I'm sorry, okay?" I tell him with an edge. "Are you going to threaten me?" I add because he doesn't move to hand over my book. Today has _not _been a good day. "I'm not dealing with you right now, Rumford Gold. I'm sick of you bullying my friends."

"So this is the cold shoulder, eh?" he asks darkly, sitting down across from me. I'm amazed at how quickly his cold front snaps on. He scowls when I grit my teeth and look away from him. We're not friends. We've never pretended to be, but we've always worked well together. Until now.

He's too fearsome and terrifying...and acts like a monster. For the life of me, I don't understand it. Even if his parents are important and he's brilliant—it doesn't give him the right to mistreat others. And I _will not_ condone his actions.

"After this project is over I think it's best we don't talk to each other." I say the words coolly but, inside, I feel nothing but cool. My chest is on fire. My cheeks are aflame.

"So that's it," Rumford hisses.

My eyes flash to his, meeting his glare straight on. "I think so, yes."

He tosses my book at my feet and stands, anger written all over his face. For a second I think he's going to growl at me, but he merely sighs and fists his hands at his sides. "Tomorrow at three. In the library. _Be _there, Belle."

I pick up my book and roll my eyes at his husky tone. "Yes. Whatever pleases you my _Lord _Gold," I mutter under my breath before I can stop myself. Then I blink. Oh what a stupid thing to say! His father has enough influence in the Society to end my father—to break my family.

With heart pounding, I gaze up at Rumford, who has frozen at my address. He eyes me like I am a hard math problem he has to solve. "You should watch yourself, Belle," he warns quietly, "even with _you _I may lose my...patience." He lets the implied threat settle in the air before turning and walking away.

I sigh and feel sorry for the girl he'll be Matched with in a couple of months.

She'll have her hands full.


	3. Prompt: First Kiss

**I am taking prompts on Tumblr if anyone's interested (anon's included). **

**thestraggletag prompted on Tumblr: "Matched: their first kiss. Belle wants to just get it out of the way, doesn't expect to like it"**

The tension has bugged me for weeks.

Ever since the Match Banquet, Rumford has cornered me frequently. We've spoken of all sorts of things. The Banquet. Graduation. Our future. Yet in all that time he's never touched me. It's as if he thinks I'll flee or reject him, and maybe he's right. Maybe I can't stomach touching him—not yet anyway.

But the fact that he might be right pisses me off. It makes me angry to know he can read me like a book. Like I'm predictable. And, hell, I can't stand it. I can't stand that I'm acting like a coward and he sees it.

He says nothing as I tug him between the shelves of the library. He probably thinks I'm about to give him a piece of my mind or blow up at him. Oh boy is he wrong.

When I push him against a bookshelf and press my lips to his, he makes a startled noise. It makes me want to laugh, and I'm about to pull back when his arms slip around my waist and keep me grounded where I am.

His mouth moves gently over mine, teasing my lips into playing with his. He's warm—_god_ he's warm.

His hands run smoothly down my back and a shiver of pleasure shoots down my spine. I respond to his ministrations with a half-sigh, half-moan. And before I can think, my hands move of their own accord and fist in his silky hair. He groans lowly in approval and deepens our kiss by slipping his tongue between my lips.

This is not what I expected. Not at all.

Because, unlike my earlier misgivings, this feels good— perfect_ and _right. He's not cold. He's not unfeeling. His lips dance like fire over mine.

I let out an undignified squeak when he switches our positions and pins me against the books. He lets out a chuckle and moves to my neck, kissing and sucking tenderly on my jugular.

_Fuck. _ It feels wonderful and I can't control myself. Reflexively, my left hand clenches his shirt and the other streaks down his back, nails digging through the cotton and into his skin. He hisses.

"Belle..."

He abandons my neck in favor of looking into my eyes. I have no idea what he sees, but I'm pretty sure they reflect the desire and lust I see in his. For _his_ eyes are dark and dilated. _Wanting_.

Our breaths are uneven, loud in the otherwise silent library. It's a good thing I picked an aisle in the back.

When his gaze becomes too much, I give him a timid kiss. He rumbles in approval and we're about to continue, but a voice interrupts— "What is going on over here?"

Rumford and I untangle our limbs just in time to see Mrs. Trax, the librarian, march down the row. I can tell she didn't know who we were because the moment her eyes land on Rumford, she pauses. Unlike me, Rumford is the picture of control. He eyes Mrs. Trax with disdain. "That is none of your business, now is it, Mrs. Trax?" he says, voice cold.

"You—you're quite right, Mr. Gold." The woman retreats and I feel bad for her.

"You're impossible," I say, pushing him away from me.

I follow after her, ignoring his attempt to catch my wrist, and cannot stop the blush that creeps into my cheeks. We had just shared our first kiss...and I'd liked it.


	4. Prompt: Aftermath of First Kiss

**I'm sorry! I neglected FF, so I'm posting them here now.**

* * *

**anon prompted: "The aftermath of the kiss in the library." AND westcoastmalone prompted: "Gold tries to ask Belle on a date".**

My embarrassment increases when Rumford gives chase.

"Belle!" He calls my name the moment we're outside the library's doors, but I don't respond. I don't care. All I can picture is the scared look on Mrs. Trax's face when he'd quietly threatened her.

How dare he treat her with such contempt! The old woman doesn't deserve his crap. Plus she's my friend, one of the only people who talk to me now that I'm his Match, and I _will not_ tolerate mistreatment of my friends.

"I hate it when you're an ass!" I mutter over my shoulder. He's about fifteen feet away and approaching fast. Luckily, the school is disserted and no one is mingling in the hallway. That's good because I don't want anyone to see me like this. Can you imagine the sight? My hair is mussed, my lips are swollen, and I think I might have a hickey on my neck. Anyone walking by would think we'd been canoodling.

I mean, we did 'canoodle' but no one _else_ has to know.

Rumford doesn't respond. I hear his footsteps getting closer and just as I make it to the stairwell, he catches my wrist. I whirl, ready to give him a piece of my mind—and am thrown off guard when he kisses me. The kiss is so powerful that I have to hold onto his shoulders to keep upright.

Before I can react with proper anger, he pulls back. There is heat in his eyes and I can hear it, too, when he says huskily, "I can't change, Belle, but I will try to be more civil. For you."

Gah! If he'd argued instead of assuaging my anger, I'd have slapped him in the face by now. Yet he knows me too well. I'm not unreasonable or brash—although my little escapade in the library today might prove otherwise.

With an exasperated groan, I bury my face in my hands and massage my temples. "Don't do it again," I sigh, opening my eyes to see him watching. His stare is intense, and I squirm uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

Now that we're not kissing and the passion of the moment has died, I feel so confused and...unsure. I kissed Rumford to make a point. I didn't expect to feel a _burning _for him deep in my belly. For a moment it was like I'd needed him more than oxygen, and the idea of any feeling being so powerful, so able to cause reason to flee my mind, is startling.

And _his response_! He had definitely _not_ lacked enthusiasm.

"Belle, would you join me for a picnic on Saturday?" He says it with deliberate slowness. Deliberate care.

"You mean a date?" I cringe at my response. _Damn._ I might as well bang my head against the stairwell's wall—I'm such an idiot.

He smiles with laughter in his eyes. "Yes, a date."

I think it over. It's a sweet offer and I'm inclined to say yes. But to be honest, spending time with Rumford _completely _alone and without some form of supervision seems daunting. Though...once we're married, we'll be alone together most of the time. It's time I start getting used to it. "Then yes, I'll join you," I tell him earnestly.

"Excellent. Would noon be all right? I'll pick you up at your house and we'll go from there. Don't bring anything; I'll have everything ready." He looks satisfied when I nod.

"That sounds fine." Without thinking I lay a hand on his chest, near to his right shoulder. "I'm sorry about your...back."

He sucks in a breath and stares at my hand on his body. "Feel free to do it again," he growls, attempting to pull me close. I stop him, feeling utterly wicked, and grin.

"Let's try and save our appetites for later, when we're married," I purr, knowing full well what I say is probably impossible if we keep going at this rate. It's just incredibly fun to tease him so.

Rumford stiffens and lets out low... was that a _keen_? The noise has me smirking when he grabs me and we end up kissing frantically against the wall. "Oh you cruel, cruel witch," he hisses against my lips. "You'll be the end of me I'm sure."

This new side of our 'relationship' creates a whole new playing field. A whole new dimension that has to be explored. And although I don't love him yet, I feel as if we are united in this dance of tongue and teeth and lips.

And it's enough. For now.


	5. Prompt: Changes Belle Experiences Now

**angelqueen13 prompted: "Match!AU The changes Belle experiences now that she has been matched with Rumford"**

It's been a crummy week.

Now that I'm Matched with Rumford Gold, people avoid me like the plague. Literally. I mean, I walk down the hall and people consciously move to the other side to get out of my way. People I used to chat and talk openly with no longer look me in the eye. Even some of my friends haven't spoken to me since the Match Banquet.

I suppose I've always been aloof and introverted, but it hurts all the same.

It hurts when I'm in class and no one sits next to me. It hurts when the teachers who used to challenge me no longer have the guts to tell me I'm wrong. And it stings like a _bitch_ when Ashley Boyd—one of my lifelong friends—blatantly tells me we can't hang out anymore.

The only solace is Ruby...and dare I say it? Maybe even Rumford.

Ruby is Matched with Peter, the lucky girl. She's as happy as can be, and I'm happy for her. The first day of school after the Match Banquet, she simply walked up and hugged me. She stayed by my side the entire day, helping me avoid Rumford.

And Rumford doesn't impose. That's one positive thing I can say about him. He listens and watches. _Understands_. We're in the same boat now, and if there's anyone who can relate to what I'm going through, it's him.

He gives me space all week, allowing me to make the first move, and I feel no remorse when I take full advantage of his patience. If we're going to make this work, he'll have to learn to be patient with me—and vice versa. That's the only way.

It isn't until Friday when I build up enough courage and resolve to talk with him. I corner him at his locker. At first, he doesn't notice my presence and continues to pack his bag.

"Hey," I say, sounding anything but sure. He looks up at my address, no doubt expecting someone else, and pauses. A small smile lightens his features.

"Hey." His response is soft, as if he's afraid I'll bolt if he speaks too loud. It shocks me. There's no menace in his voice, no underlying darkness, and I spot the same warmth I saw in his eyes at the Banquet. He's happy I'm here. "Ready to talk?"

"I...I think so."

"How about we take a stroll around the grounds then?" It's a suggestion, not an order. He looks so hopeful that I can't bear to disappoint him. Even though he scares me, even though he can be an ass, I am his Match. He is mine. And despite what people say, we're lucky. Most Matchees have no clue who their Match is until their first meeting. At least we know each other.

So I say, "I'd like that," and hope for the best.


	6. Prompt: First Date (Picnic)

**Anon prompted: "A first date maybe", once-upon-a-writer said: "Rumford is happy about being matched with belle", and anon asked: "Belle didn't want a Match. Rumford finds out that she wanted no part of the Match process, unlike other girls. What is his reaction?" **

It isn't until 11:58 AM on Saturday when I realize my mistake. I'm a fool. There is _no way_ in hell I'm ready for our first date, and even if I was, I'd still be freaking out.

Two minutes. Two minutes until Rumford arrives on the doorstep and leads me out of the house. We'll have hours to ourselves—hours to eat, talk, and maybe even _canoodle_. Though, I think today the kissing should be put on hold. I was right about the hickey, and it was _very _unfortunate when my sister Rose pointed out the bruising at dinner on Monday night. Mom and Dad had gone pale.

Still...Rumford needn't suck on my neck.

"You're not bringing anything, sweetheart?" In my nervousness, I don't hear my mother until she speaks right behind me. Why she thought she had to sneak up and startle, I have no clue.

"He told me not to," I tell her.

She nods and eyes my clothes, looking confused. Her fingers trail to the hem of my turquoise blouse and then point to the close-fitted khaki jeans I'm wearing. "Aren't you dressed a little too casual?"

"Mom, we're going on a picnic, and he said to wear comfortable clothing. Don't you trust me enough to dress myself properly?"

Before she can answer, the doorbell rings and I step forward to open the door.

I don't know what I expect. But when my eyes meet his and gradually descend from his head to the shoes he's wearing, I smile. It appears he's taken his own advice because he's wearing a buttoned down burgundy shirt with sleeves rolled up to his forearms and dark jeans. He looks _good_. Handsome even. And confident.

"Rumford." My father materializes out of nowhere. I'm thankful he at least tries to sound civil.

"Mr. French, Mrs. French," he says, nodding to both in turn. "I promise to have your daughter home by four." There's a glint in his eyes daring my parents to challenge him. They don't, and Rumford's gaze shifts to mine. He's smiles. "All ready to go?"

"Yes." I want to hit myself for sounding so breathless. Yet I can't help it; he has such a powerful presence here in this household. He holds out his hand for me to take and I'm struck by how natural the action is. Before I can think properly, I slip my hand into his, feeling reassured. And when he tugs gently to bring me to his side, I don't fight. I give in.

"Four o'clock," my father chokes out.

"No later," Rumford agrees. He lets me step down the front porch's steps first and that's when I see the car he's driving... Holy god. It's one of those cars only the fabulously wealthy can afford—all sleek, fast, and wind-resistant. "Something wrong?" I turn to see him watching, gauging my reaction. He looks pleased. Smug.

I gesture wordlessly to the car. "Isn't this overkill?"

"Not when I'm trying to impress you," he answers, leading me to the passenger side and opening the door. He waits until I am settled before closing it and getting into the driver's seat. "Did it work?"

The inside of the car is just as amazing. All black leather. "Yes," I admit sheepishly. With a laugh, he starts the car and pulls out of my driveway. I turn to look at the two small backseats and see our picnic basket resting securely on the floor. Beside it is a blanket.

It's the sight of the blanket that makes me breathe unevenly. There are so many activities two people can do on a blanket when alone... No, no. I need to get my mind out of the gutter. There's no way that's what the blanket is for and Rumford wouldn't be _that_ presumptuous. Anyway, the Society deems it illegal, and his father is one of the Society's most powerful men. So the blanket _must _be only for the picnic. "You look beautiful, by the way," he says, interrupting my thoughts.

I color despite my best efforts not to. "Thank you. You look...rebellious."

He quirks an eyebrow and briefly takes his eyes off to road to look at me. "Oh really?"

"Casual compared to your usual," I clarify. "I like it... Where are we headed?"

"Ah ah. It's supposed to be a surprise."

This gentle teasing is new. Now that we've overcome our boundaries and have touched and kissed, conversation flows more easily between us. There is no longer a barrier keeping us at bay, holding us back.

I like it.

We banter back and forth for a while until the scenery begins to change and I can't help but look out the window. Slowly, the scenery shifts from the city's tall buildings to rolling hills and vast forests. "It's beautiful..."

"We're almost there." He pulls the car onto a quiet, untouched road and travels miles through vast forest before coming to a slow stop, pulling over, and saying, "This is where we get out." He exits his side and opens my door. "I'll carry the basket. How about you get the blanket?"

"Okay." My sense of ease has all but vanished now that we're outside the car. We're in the middle of nowhere, and there's probably no one within ten miles. It's not a good feeling...but Rumford seems perfectly at ease, which helps. "Have you been here before?"

He hands me the blanket before picking up the basket and closing the door. "Yes. When I was little, my parents took me to where we're going many times. It's not a far trek. Not even half a mile."

He leads the way into the forest like he's done this a million times. I follow beside him, careful to walk on his empty side lest I accidently hit the picnic basket. Overhead, birds chirp merrily and the trees swish back and forth in a gentle breeze. The breeze is warm on my face, not too hot or too cold.

At one point I'm so distracted by peering up at the trees that I don't look where I step. My foot catches on a root. Rumford's free hand strikes out and keeps me from falling. "I'd rather like it if you _don't _get hurt on our first date," he teases. "What would my parents say?"

Laughter breaks through my lips and makes him grin.

He's so altered when we're alone. It's like I'm the center of his world and he'll only show _me _what's beneath his skin. And I want to know what's lurking just below the surface. I want to know him like he knows and understands me. Hell, for the past week he's the only person who's been on my mind. "_My _parents wouldn't be surprised. They know I'm a klutz."

"You are," he agrees. He dodges my playful shove and pulls me close. "We're almost there, so close your eyes."

"What? Why?"

"I want it to be a surprise," he explains lowly.

I close my eyes and feel his arm slip around my waist. We walk about one hundred paces before the ground shifts, roots and foliage no longer under our feet. Without my sight, I can't tell where we are or what's changed, and I nearly jump when Rumford's hot breath tickles my ear. "Open..."

I open my eyes slowly and gasp. We're standing in a field blooming with wildflowers, and I see violet corn cockles, golden marigolds, and blood red poppies spattering the grass... The forest surrounds the little field, like its protecting and sheltering the flowers that grow here. "It's beautiful!" Before I can stop myself, I walk forward and pluck a marigold from the earth, bringing it to my nose so that I may smell its scent.

After a few seconds I twist and meet Rumford's eye.

He stares right back, contentedness plain in his features. "You like it, then?"

Is he blind? Did he not just see my reaction? For someone as smart as he is, he can be really stupid sometimes. "I love it," I correct him, taking his hand. He guides me to a patch of grass without flowers and sets down the basket. I spread out the blanket and sit right down. "Your parents used to take you here? How did they find it?"

He shrugs while he begins unpacking the basket. "One of the perks of being in the Society's Inner Circle," he explains. "The same perks you'll have when we're married through the Marriage Contract."

For the first time this trip, I feel extremely uncomfortable. While we've worked out some things, we definitely haven't spoken of the Society and the perks that I'll see when I marry him. It's awkward. Troublesome. "Oh."

My eyes flit to the items he is pulling from the basket. He takes out wrapped sandwiches, a container of lemonade, fruit, and a batch of cookies. Everything looks delicious. Guilt riddles me and I announce, "Well now I feel bad."

He pauses, his eyes flashing to my face. Worry is in his eyes. "Why?"

"I feel bad because you did all this," I say, waving my hand over the food, "and I did nothing."

Rumford shakes his head and looks amused. "Belle, I did everything because I wanted to do this right. Trust me. I enjoyed making this all for you."

Well...I can't feel bad about that. Plus, I'm charmed.

He offers me a sandwich and a small cup of lemonade, and I accept them with thanks.

We end up eating the sandwiches slowly, careful not to start out too fast. At first our conversation starts out timid and shy, but when I tell him about my parent's horror at the hickey, he laughs. It breaks the tension and we're able to talk about other things. Our lives. School. Even _children_. And since he is part of the Society's 'Inner Circle', he can have any number of offspring—unlike the rest who can have only two.

"I don't have siblings, though I wish I did." We were onto the fruit now. "How many children do you want to have, Belle?" The question catches me off-guard and I choke on a grape.

"Well," I splutter, trying my best to appear calm and not flustered or embarrassed. God, I must look like a fool... "I always planned to have two, though now that I can have _more_ with you—" Christ, this is so awkward. "—I expect I'll want three or four."

Rumford smirks and pops a piece of pineapple into his mouth. "We'll have ourselves a large brood," he says wickedly, eyes dark with the prospect. It surprises me (he _always _surprises me) that he plans for a large family. I had not pegged him as a large-family-man.

"We'll see," I agree, feeling the familiar, tell-tale heat in my cheeks. It's so strange! We have less than a year to go before we're married and can start adding to our family. The realization is mind-boggling.

Absently, I take a bite of a strawberry and look out over the field of wildflowers. They burst with color under the sun, showing off their petals and stalks. No doubt the warm rays of sunlight give them life.

"You have juice coming down your chin." When Rumford's hand tenderly grips my jaw and guides my face to his, I shiver. His tongue skims my chin, lapping up any errant juices from the strawberry. He takes a moment to taste it on his tongue before giving me a chaste kiss and adjusting so I sit with my back against his chest. His arms loop around my middle. "Are you happy, Belle?"

The question feels like a slap in the face because he's read me so well this past month and he's doing it again right now. Am I happy? _Can I be_ happy? He desires to know, and for a brief moment there is such clarity in my feelings for him I feel as if my heart might burst. This _has _to be the beginnings of love. Of ardor.

"I'm not unhappy," I whisper, placing my head against his shoulder. "I...I think I could be happy, that _we _could be happy..."

He strokes my hair. "Did you always think so?"

I snort, recalling the night of the Match Banquet. "No... To be honest, I didn't want a Match to begin with, and when we were Matched, I was in denial. But when you looked at me with such affection after we'd received our silver boxes, I thought it could work. I thought I could be happy and love you."

A shaky exhale is his answer. Soon, I feel his lips press against the back of my neck, then his hot breath when he says, "You make me happy, my Belle." The possessiveness of his address has me reeling—not in a bad way but in a good one—and I twist my head to press a few swift kisses to his lips. Just as I sense his arms tightening and one of his hands creeping up my stomach, I wriggle away and grab a cookie.

He goes for one, too, but I decide to tease him and push it away from his reaching hand. The heat I've seen in his eyes this past week returns and he lunges again. Quick as lightning, I poke the plate of cookies away but instead of going for the tray cookies, like I first thought, he playfully shoves and pins me to the blanket. The cookie I took is lost somewhere in the grass. "Hey," I object, experiencing a rush of excitement when I try and sit up and am unable to do so. I can feel his lean, muscular frame against my chest. There's no doubt he can feel my body as well.

My heart thrums wildly when his right hand skims down my side. He bends down for a kiss and I figure it'll he languid and slow. I'm completely wrong.

The kiss Rumford gives me is all teeth and tongue, vivacious and hasty. It's _wonderful_, and I immediately hum in approval and join my tongue in the dance.

He pulls back too soon, smirking wildly. "Too easy," he murmurs and explains by taunting a cookie in front of my eyes. He must have snatched one while we were kissing.

"Oh you!" I giggle, trying to steal it when he rolls off. He sticks the whole thing is his mouth and raises his hands in surrender.

Once we settle down again, I recall his words. "You're truly happy I'm your Match?" I ask, plucking a corn cockle from a wild patch.

Rumford tucks a loose curl behind my ear. "Truly, I am." I turn to offer him another kiss but am interrupted by a soft alarm. He looks at his watch and frowns. "So soon?"

"What?"

He holds his watch out for me to see.

According to its hands, it's three o'clock. We have to start packing up if he wants to get me home by four like he promised. "I think your father would be very displeased if I got you home late," he says, "though I'm tempted to keep you here all day. You're cute when you admire the flowers."

I blush and he laughs, standing to offer me his hands. When I'm safely on my feet, he lets go and begins to repack the picnic basket. It will be considerably lighter to carry this time.

Just as he's about to pick it up and let me fold the blanket, I wrap my arms around his neck. He raises his eyebrows but doesn't object. "This was wonderful, Rumford. Thank you," I whisper, kissing him fiercely before pulling away.

"I—I'm—glad," he manages. It's hilarious when he clears his throat.

"You're cute when you're flustered."

"Oh don't you start."

Our laughter rings out in the meadow.


	7. Prompt: Gaston Problems

**anon prompted: "Belle gets hassled over being Matched with Rumford and he comes in to defend her", and afanofdeduction said many things :P —basically a fight, Rum get's hurt, he protects Belle, then has to use a cane and might hit someone with it.**

There is a young man named Gaston Pierre in my graduating class. He's the class jock and for senior superlatives, he won most athletic. He's tall, broad, and handsome, and when the Match Banquet came around all the girls wanted to be Matched with him. But the only girl hewanted to be Matched with was _me._

For the life of me, I've never understood why. I've always disliked Gaston. In my mind he's conceited and self-absorbed and has certainly never been my type. He was all over me before the Banquet, talking and flirting, and I didn't give him the time of day. I knew there was no way in hell I'd be Matched with an oaf like him; the Society's Matching system couldn't be _that _stupid. The odds were nearly 1 in 8,000,000.

So it was an odd blessing when I was Matched with Rumford.

Gaston kept his distance, though I heard whispers from Red that he was not happy and had sent in paperwork for a Re-Match (if it was at all possible). I didn't worry. There was no way Rumford's parents would allow the paperwork to go through.

Even Rumford assured me there was nothing to fear. His parents saw how happy he was (especially after our picnic) and they wouldn't see his happiness ruined. At least I could give them credit for that.

Gaston fell off the radar.

Until one afternoon in late May, a few weeks before Graduation...

...

I sit with my back against the trunk of an oak tree. It's warm outside, the breeze is nice, and the tree offers great shade to avoid the sun. A book is in my hands. Big surprise, though it doesn't offer escape because my thoughts are on Rumford and his watchful eyes. His hands. His tender kisses...

I clear my throat and shake my head. Now is not a good time to think about kisses, especially when Rumford is holed up in an exam; he'd asked me to wait after school for him earlier, saying he'd be out by 3:30 PM.

With a sigh, I peer at my cell phone. 3:15 PM. Fifteen more minutes.

The wait is going to kill me.

"Patience," I mutter, growling when I can't focus on the book. Heck, I think I've re-read the same paragraph three or four times. "Patience..." Five more minutes pass with no improvement. Still the same paragraph, no matter how hard I try. _This _is what Rumford does to me... How we'll be able to control ourselves when we're husband and wife beats me. Fifteen minutes and I can't handle myself. What happens if he's gone the whole day at work?

I don't even want to know.

3:25 PM

Okay, no more. By the time I leave the edge of the grounds and get back to the main building, Rumford will be out. And then we can share a few kisses...maybe more.

I'm about to get up, hunt my Match down, and find a quiet place with him when a slurred voice says, "How's it feel to be Matched with the most despised son of a bitch in school?"

Freezing, I peer around the edge of the tree. What I see makes my heart pause. It's Gaston, and he's clearly drunk off his ass. There's a muddled glaze in his eyes, he's unable to stand straight without swaying, and he _reeks_ of alcohol. "Gaston," I whisper, feeling my blood run cold.

If I was to scream, people might not hear me; I'm too far out in the grounds. We're alone. This situation has 'DANGEROUS' written all over it.

Gaston moves forward, stumbling slightly on a root. His clothes are a mess. "Baby, you should be _mine_," he pleads, reaching a hand toward me. Instantly I'm on my feet, the book forgotten, and move so the tree is half-between us. "That asshole can't make you feel good like I can...just let me show you. Let me have you..."

His words cause me to shake like a leaf.

I'm average height and skinny. Gaston is _huge _compared to me, and he could have his way with me. I'd be unable to stop him. If I tried to run, he'd sprint me down easily—though I think I'd take my chances with him so drunk. "Gaston," I say calmly, "I don't think that's a good idea. I...I think I should go."

Anger flashes in his eyes. "You're mine, baby. I want you."

My breaths come out ragged and my heart pounds. This is not good. Not good at all. I need to get as far away from Gaston as possible... So I decide to take my chances.

In a flash, I'm tearing across the grass. Gaston gives a cry of rage and thunders behind me. He might not have been as drunk as I'd thought because he doesn't falter in his gait and slams me to the ground.

The force is so sudden and powerful that it knocks the air out of my lungs. Pain such as I have never felt before blooms inside my body. Yet the pain doesn't blind my senses or reason and just as Gaston's muscular arms pin me down, I suck in a gulp of breath and scream.

The sound cuts clear through the air, shrill and frightening until one of Gaston's sweaty hands covers my mouth. The scream is muffled. True fear sets in. "He won't have you," Gaston hisses in my face. His breath is putrid and I cough, struggling to breathe. "Not until I have you first." Tears pool in my eyes. I try to crawl away and somehow manage to kick him to his feet, making him stumble back.

"Belle!" The sound of my name being shouted by that familiar voice—_his _voice_—_is the sweetest thing I've ever heard.

"Rumford!" I scream back, miraculously making it to my feet. My whole body hurts. Everything is bruised... Through the tears in my eyes I can see Rumford sprinting my way. Panic and fear is evident in his features.

He's within twenty yards when a foot kicks between my shoulder blades and sends me crumbling to the grass. I hear a loud roar of rage and then a meaty, hollow smack as Rumford slams into Gaston at full speed. From my position on the ground, I see them fly, roll, and sprawl feet from each other.

Rumford is on his feet faster than I think possible. With wicked precision, he punches Gaston in the temple and jumps back when Gaston rises, wobbling, to his feet. "I'm gonna kill you, Gold..."

"How dare you touch her," Rumford snarls. It's shocking. Reassuring. Because even though there's a size and weight difference between them, he looks deadly and confident. Unafraid. "How dare you harm her!"

"She's mine," Gaston growls.

"No," Rumford says, voice lethal, "She's _mine_."

And with that, he springs forward and catches Gaston's punch. A loud crack echoes when he twists the arm at an impossible angle, but he doesn't stop there—not when Gaston yells in agony or when Gaston begins to call for mercy. He lands blow after blow on my attacker's body and only _stops _when Gaston grips his right ankle and twists.

Rumford falls, but I—somehow getting to my feet in enough time—catch him and ease him down. "Are you okay? Belle—" Even in his pain he's worried about me, and his stroking, bruised hands cup my face. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry. I should have been here sooner—" He cuts off, gasping and grabbing his ankle.

"Is it broken?" I ask, worried. Absently, I kiss his temple and stroke his chest.

I've been through shit today, but seeing him hurt has me forgetting about what could have happened if he hadn't shown up. Still...the sight of Gaston's limp, unconscious body is frightening. Blood is all over his face. His arm is snapped clean in two. Who knew Rumford could cause such damage?

"I don't think so... I think it's just a sprain." He twists to run his hands over my body. "Did he hurt you?"

I can't bear to meet his gaze. "Only shoved me down... Rumford...he was...he was going to..." It's astonishing that I've lasted this long without falling to pieces. Now that the immediate danger is gone, a sob escapes my lips.

"Shh..." He tucks my head in the crook of his shoulder. "Red should be here soon with help. I've got you. I've got you, Belle." I lose myself in his arms and weep bitterly.

After a minute or two, I sniffle and pull back. "Red?"

"We both heard you...heard your scream," he explains, dark anger evident in his face. "I told her to get help." He looks like he's about to stand but his ankle keeps him seated beside me. I shift and rub my hands down his leg to the injury and roll up his jeans. "Leave it, Belle. They'll take care of it at the hospital."

My eyes shoot to his. "Hospital?"

"They need to check you for broken bones."

"What? Rumford—"

"We're not negotiating this, Belle," he snaps, clearly not in the mood. That's when I spot it in his eyes: he's scared and incensed. Scared I've been injured. Terrified of what could have happened. Enraged at Gaston for trying to pull a stunt like this.

"Okay," I tell him, voice small. Thankfully we don't have to wait long because Red suddenly arrives with several teachers.

"Are you alright?"

"What happened?"

"Someone call 911."

So many voices...

It's all a whirlwind of activity as they carry us back to school. Paramedics meet us there, loading the both of us into separate ambulances. At first, I struggle, but Rumford coaxes me into complying. Gaston is loaded up and whisked off for emergency treatment; he isn't in good condition.

When we arrive at the hospital, I'm taken in for a quick MRI. They want to be certain there is no internal hemorrhaging, and I don't see Rumford for a good hour. It's a relief when it's over and they say there's nothing wrong—only bruising. To help with the bruises, they inject me with a high dosage of pain killers. After, I change back into my clothes and am directed to a private room.

The door is wide open and I see Rumford sitting in a chair with his leg propped up. Beside him is his father, still in his suit with his hair sleeked back. They don't notice me until I slip into the room. "Belle."

Mr. Gold stands. "Miss French."

"Hello, Mr. Gold," I say, taking his offered chair. We've only spoken to each other a few times, and even though he's high in the Society and my father dislikes him, at least he's polite.

"Your parents are on their way here," he tells me. He looks at his son and then back to me. "I'll leave you two alone. When I return, we need to hear your side of the story, Miss French." He leaves swiftly, calling for a report on Gaston.

"What's the verdict?" I ask once we're alone. Rumford has a few abrasions from the fight, his knuckles are shiny with antiseptic, and his right ankle is wrapped in ice. It doesn't look too bad.

He sneaks his hand into mine and brings it to his lips, kissing my knuckles. "Just a sprain... They injected nanobites into the inflamed area, so I should be perfect in two days. The doctor says I should use a cane and walk to stimulate repair. They said you had no broken bones, only bruises."

"Oh, so they told you?" My voice is weak from exhaustion. How can I _not_ be exhausted after something like this, after almost being...violated? "What did you tell your father?"

His eyes sparkle with powerful rage. Rage for the injustice of Gaston's actions. "I told my father the truth," he hisses, "I told him that I heard you scream and found that disgusting dog laying his hands on you. He knows what I did, and he approves. How _dare _Gaston touch you?" As he says the words his hand tightens in mine.

"He agrees with your action of almost beating a drunken man to death?" I am in no way ungrateful of what Rumford did, but sometimes I hardly think I know him. He's gentle with me but handles everyone else with contempt...and the fact that he almost killed someone scares me.

"Belle, he was trying to hurt you!" He leans forward, heedless of his injury, and looks in my eyes. "And I don't want that, Belle. I care about you."

"I know, I know..." I give him a kiss and run a hand through his hair. "Thank you...for saving me." He kisses me again in answer before I settle back in my seat.

There's a knock on the door. We both look up to see a blonde-haired doctor standing in the doorway and waving a cane. "I'm here to make sure this works. Can you help him stand, please?" I immediately wrap an arm around Rumford's torso and do as he asks. "All right," the doctor says, handing the cane over, "Take a few practice runs."

Rumford appears completely at ease walking with the aid of the cane. His movements are fluid and perfectly timed, and the image is sort of striking, as if he is born to carry one. It's so silly I want to laugh. "It feels good," he announces. "Thank you."

"Everything looks good," the doctor agrees and leaves.

Rumford picks up the cane and eyes it. "I could use this as a weapon," he jokes, but there's something underlining his words. Some undertone of coldness.

"Don't beat Gaston over the head with it," I order, catching on.

"If he comes near you again..."

I roll my eyes, thinking this is far from funny. "Promise me."

He reclaims his chair and motions for me to sit down next to him. As I watch, he props his foot back up on the chair directly parallel to his. When he's done he raises his eyebrows and asks, "Promise you what?"

"Promise me you won't hurt him and finish the deed."

"Belle—"

"Rumford..." My tone contains a warning.

He sighs a little theatrically, and then grins. "All right, I promise. But only if you sit down and give me a kiss."

For the first time this evening, I smile—but it's short-lived when I hear my parents rushing down the hall and calling my name. Quickly, I jump forward and give him a lazy kiss. "Deal."

Although I'm emotionally shot and maybe a little scarred, I know he'll do everything in his power to help me get through this. And, in this moment, I love him for it.


	8. Many Prompts! Yay!

**Author's Note: Sorry it took me so long to update this verse, but here's a long-ass chapter with numerous filled prompts to make up for it :3 **

* * *

**hieroscurls prompted: "Meeting the parents" and anon said: "meet the parents—both sides plz".**

After the Match Banquet, there's a small window of opportunity to say hello to the Golds and introduce ourselves. My father wants to book it out of here as fast as possible while my mother thinks it would be rude. I agree with her. What kind of message would that send? And even if I want to go, the Golds are hanging back as the crowd moves to the doors and clearly intend to approach us.

"Belle," a voice calls my name from across the spacious room. My eyes search for the owner and spot Red. She waves goodbye, smiling encouragingly, and for a moment I feel very envious of her; she's Matched with Peter, like she wanted. I'm Matched with one of the most hated guys in school.

Yet I quickly squash the irrational jealously and wave back. Red doesn't deserve my anger or envy. She's a wonderful friend who should have my happiness and love.

"I'll see you on Monday!" I answer.

"I'll call you!" Red responds, sympathy in her emerald eyes.

Nodding, I smile one last time, and she's lost in the crowd, her parents disappearing right after her. "She's such a good friend," my mother whispers, squeezing my shoulder.

"She is." Already my mind has shifted gears. Rumford. The Golds. They're walking calmly this way and my Match is in the lead. He wears a suit with a burgundy dress shirt and matching tie. It becomes him, fitting to his slim (though lean) build. He looks sharp. Dapper. And his parents look just as dashing.

His mother wears a sleek, golden dress and appears as if she's drenched in gold. Her dark, curling hair is pulled into a majestic updo. She looks stunning even with only a little makeup on. I'd say Rumford has inherited her slim build, though he stands taller than her by at least three inches. But I'm definitely sure he has his father's eyes.

Mr. Gold is tall, lean, and dressed impeccably in a tailored suit much like Rumford's. With his hair sleeked back and his calculating amber eyes, he screams power. Restraint.

He's the first one to speak. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. French," he says, voice a low purr. "Isabelle… It's a pleasure to meet you." He shakes my parents' hands, then mine. "This is my wife, Celia, and I believe you know Rumford, Isabelle. He says you've worked together in school."

There is an exchange of greetings and hands. My heart thrums wildly, beating heavily against my ribcage. This might be worse than the anticipation for the Match Banquet itself. Plus, Rumford isn't helping. He hasn't taken his eyes off me since the Match—and still isn't doing so now.

"Pleasure to meet you," I manage, sounding in control. Ha! If only they knew the tidal wave of emotions roaring uncontrolled within me. My eyes flash to Rumford, who smiles at my glance. We're about to step to the side and let our parents chat when the hostess interrupts:

"I apologize for the intrusion, but City Hall is closing and regulation states 'Matches and their families cannot converse the night of the Banquet'." It was an inconvenient rule the Society had created after a few incidents of families fighting and getting rowdy.

Mr. Gold smiles. "We understand," he says. Yes, he of all people should understand. I mean for all we know, he might have helped instill the regulation. He turns to survey my family. "Hopefully, we shall meet again soon. Goodbye."

"And goodnight," his wife adds.

"Goodbye," my mother says sincerely. My father nods graciously, eyeing them as they begin to leave. Rumford stays behind, holding his silver box loosely in his left hand. His stare is meaningful.

I turn to my parents and wave them on. The last thing I want is them spying and poking their noses in places they don't belong. It's a miracle when they listen and follow slowly after Mr. and Mrs. Gold.

Once we're alone, we walk into step beside each other and ignore the hostess' disapproving gaze. "So…" I start, voice slightly uneven.

Rumford looks at me closely, eyes tender and dark. "We don't have to talk now, Belle. There's no rush…" It takes me a second to realize what he's offering, and it's a gift. He's willing to wait until I'm ready to talk, ready to accept and understand what's happened. Perhaps he doesn't need to plug in the microcard. Perhaps he already knows me so well.

"Thank you," I tell him, putting as much gratitude into the two words as I can.

We reach the exit doors of City Hall and he opens one for me.

Outside, the stars remain bright in the night sky. They have not changed in the past four hours, though I feel as if my world has shifted to a whole different plain. But as crazy as it sounds, I feel ready—ready to face the future. Now I know who I will share it with. We'll just have to make the best of it. Together.

…..

"She's very pretty," my father says quietly, catching my stare. It's no secret I've had my eyes on Belle French the entire Banquet. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to take my eyes off her.

My mother tsks and squeezes his hand on the tabletop. "No, Robert," she complains gently, "She's beautiful. Look at her." No, I think passionately, lovingly, she's gorgeous. With azure eyes that sparkle like the purest ocean, cascading, dark locks of hair and porcelain skin unmarred, she is the most—has been the most—perfect creature I've ever laid eyes on. And she's mine. All mine. My Match.

A feeling of intense satisfaction and pride washes over me. Belle is my most compatible partner and I'd known it before the Match Banquet deep in my bones.

She truly is mine.

I don't pay attention to the hostess when she bids everyone at the ceremony goodnight or when people rise and start to exit. My attention is all on Belle, who waves uncertainly to a friend departing in the crowd. She doesn't look unhappy. Is she? I wouldn't blame her… To be paired with a monster like me, she must hate it. But she's met my eyes numerous times tonight, and I haven't seen hatred or disdain in those deep blue eyes of hers. I've seen uncertainty and fear, perhaps, but nothing damning.

"Should we say hello?" My mother sounds unsure, peering at the French family across the way. "I think it would be rude not to, even with that law. We should at least introduce ourselves, Robert." She becomes more determined with each word she utters, and my father won't refuse her.

"As you wish," he says, helping her stand. "But we must be quick."

I rise quickly, brushing my hands down the jacket of my suit. This will be interesting and I'm itching to speak with Belle now that we're Matched.

There's no doubt in my mind she'll need time and space. We haven't spoken almost a month and the last time we parted, it was not on good terms. She probably hasn't thought twice about me, yet I've most certainly thought about her. I've thought of her witty retorts, her intelligence, her facetious nature, and her dazzling eyes. Those full lips…

It's been enough to drive me crazy…especially when the Match Banquet loomed closer. Fear that she would be Matched with an oaf like Gaston Pierre consumed me day and night. Belle deserved a man who could understand her, be patient with her, and eventually make her happy.

And after all that worrying she was Matched with me. 1 in 8,000,000.

It had to be fate.

My mother and father trail closely behind me as I maneuver around tables. Belle watches my progress and I see the anxiety in her eyes. It's then when I realize I must take this slow, that I must be patient. Obviously, she's overwhelmed and worried, fearful of what is to come. I want to make this work, so I'll have to give her space.

My father speaks first, "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. French…Isabelle… It's a pleasure to meet you." His voice is a low, comforting hum, and I praise him silently for his tact. Any other tone might have set Belle and her family on edge, for they are not used to speaking to someone so high ranked in the Society. "This is my wife, Celia, and I believe you know Rumford, Isabelle. He says you've worked together in school."

We exchange greetings and I shake Mr. and Mrs. French's hands. Mr. French is average height, round, and has light blue eyes. His wife is who Belle gets her looks from; she's skinny, has rich brunette hair, and green eyes that glitter in the light.

I don't think it's my imagination when Mr. French squeezes just a little too tight. His action makes me want to smirk. Yes, your daughter is now mine, I think wickedly, eyes trained on Belle. And I'm hers… In a year we'll be married through the Marriage Contract, and after that, we'll have a family together.

"Pleasure to meet you," she says calmly, meeting my piercing gaze. A smile reaches my lips. No matter how scared she is, she's not afraid to look me in the eye.

I love it.

We're about to drift to the side when the hostess who gave the Matchees their silver boxes clears her throat to catch our attention and says, "I apologize for the intrusion, but City Hall is closing and regulation states 'Matches and their families cannot converse the night of the Banquet'." That stupid rule.

My father smiles and only my mother and I can see the flash of warning in them. "We understand," he says, falsely civil. He turns and looks between Belle and Mr. and Mrs. French. "Hopefully, we shall meet again soon. Goodbye."

"And goodnight," my mother adds for good measure.

"Goodbye," Mrs. French returns while her husband only nods.

My parents sense my silent desire to speak with Belle and begin to exit. Mr. and Mrs. French are a little slower on the uptake, but Belle shoos them on after I give her an expressive look.

God, she's so beautiful…

I'm so entranced by her charismatic beauty that she is the first to break the silence. "So…" she says, and I hear a slight shake in her voice. Ah… For now, she must have time to herself. She must be able to accept what has happened.

"We don't have to talk now, Belle. There's no rush…" I tell her, looking into her eyes. A confused expression passes across her face before it lightens and she raises her eyebrows.

"Thank you…" she whispers, coloring. The blood in her cheeks sets my mind aflame. Would she blush like that if and when I kissed her? Yet I don't have time to think about kisses because we reach the doors, and I open one for her.

While she casts her eyes to the night sky, I watch every emotion, every feeling she must be experiencing, and it's mind-shattering. My eyes follow hers and soak in the stars. Though, they aren't enough to tempt me—not as bewitching as Belle—so I look back at her and drink it all in.

* * *

**anon prompted: "after graduation celebrations ;)" , Rayvah wanted: "I'd like to see Rumford being jealous", and Claire said: "How about a dance/family party" (unquote)— Rumford jealous and he gives her a gift.**

"Tell me why we're going to this party again?" Rumford asks when he gets in the driver's seat and closes the door. We've both showered and changed since Graduation this morning, which had been long and dull. The speaker had gone on for two hours, rambling about responsibility and dedication to the Society—like we'd never heard that before.

I shift in my seat to spy him turning the key in the ignition. "Because Red's basically family and she invited us. I think you'll like it; she can throw one hell of a party when her parents are out. Besides…" I lean towards him and suggestively run my hand up his chest, the back of his neck, and into his hair. "There'll be loud music," I say against his lips, giving him a light kiss. "No one will be watching…" Kiss. "No rules…" Kiss. "And there will be dancing."

He seems to catch my drift and shivers in anticipation. There will be no ballroom dancing at this party. "Well when you put it that way…" he says shakily. "Just remember your parents set a curfew."

"Two o'clock we can definitely manage," I laugh with a snort, giving him another quick peck before snapping in. It's late and the party starts at nine, so we should go. "Thanks for picking me up."

"Anytime, sweetheart." He pulls out of the driveway and listens carefully to my directions. "My parents want to invite your family over for dinner sometime soon," he says when we're on the highway.

Even before he finishes the end of that sentence I'm tensing in my seat. Damn… It's not that I mind his parents or anything, but I'm worried my father might lose his cool and spout words of treason in front of them. "All right," I answer as neutral as possible and failing miserably.

Rumford looks over, keeping both hands on the wheel. "That doesn't sound 'all right'," he points out. "What's wrong?"

I haven't told him of my father's beliefs for fear of his reaction. Whenever I build up enough courage, I always chicken out. Besides, I have no idea if he will agree, accept, or think my family mad. Unlike us, he's grown up in the Inner Circle. He's had a privileged life—a life style we're both going to share after the once we're married…

Only when Rumford takes one of my hands in his do I realize I've been silent too long. "Nothing," I tell him, cringing. Of all the things I could say, that is probably the worst. It's certainly the most careless.

He listens to my response, knowing full well I am lying. "I don't like it when you keep things from me," he sighs, squeezing gently. Reassuringly. "Do you not want to have dinner at my house?"

"Oh I do," I say sincerely, and it's true. Rumford's parents may seem larger than life, but they treat me kindly. They're polite. Yet my father…he might make a fool of himself. "I'm just worried about my family. They're not used to such grandeur." My answer isn't the exact truth but it's close enough.

"They can't get used to grandeur until they experience it, wouldn't you say?" Rumford brings my hand to his lips. "That's one thing I look forward to when we're married, Belle. I could take you places you've only ever dreamed of. I could show you the world. You'd want for nothing."

I can picture it now.

I see us traveling the world, learning new languages, and eating spices only detailed in books. And it's when I imagine his hand holding mine that I'm sure I want to experience the world by his side. Together. With heart bursting, I whisper, "I've always wondered what the ocean looks like."

"Then I'll show you the ocean," he says, voice determined. He gives my hand one final kiss before putting both hands back on the steering wheel. "This exit?" Confused, I look out the windshield and discover we're further along the highway than I previously believed.

"Yes." Still, I am breathless from his promise, and for the first time, I'm not embarrassed by how I might sound. Rumford loves it when he astonishes me. Why should I hide it, then?

We speak no more of worldly adventures for the rest of the ride.

Carefully, I give directions to Red's house, which is on the outskirts of the city. It's very large and borders the edge of a forest, and the lucky girl has always had the forest to comfort her in times of distress. We've shared hundreds of memories together, running over underbrush and under the canopy of the trees. "It's packed," Rumford murmurs when I indicate the correct house.

Cars line the driveway and half-way down the street. People are everywhere, mingling in the front yard, on the porch, or on the hood of their cars. A few couples are making out in the shadows. "I told you Red could throw a party," I laugh, smacking his thigh teasingly. He parks a ways down the quiet road. "Her house is perfect because she doesn't have neighbors within two miles."

"I'll say." He turns off the car and gets out. I mirror his movements and take his hand once my feet are safely on the pavement. Already we can hear the bass of the music, and it's loud. "We'll be deaf by the end of the night," he announces above the roar.

"I look forward to it!" I answer, sensing his uneasiness. I have to remedy that.

Without another word I push him against a tree and crush my lips to his. The kiss I give him is all teeth and tongue. Practically sinful. And before he can respond to my ministrations I pull back. "Let's go to this party," I purr, turning away.

I don't get far.

Faster than I can blink, Rumford has my back pinned to his chest, an arm around my waist, and a hand tanged in my hair. He tugs my head back and I see that his eyes are dark, fierce in the moonlight. "Yes, let's go to this party—where there will be no appropriate dancing," he hisses, and I nearly shriek in surprise when he grinds himself against me.

"Hey, save it for the dance floor!" someone taunts from afar.

Rumford gives a low chuckle. I turn bright pink.

We manage to walk up the lawn and onto the front porch. Music is blaring inside and I'll admit I'm slightly scared to open the door. It's not every day Red throws a party. Though, when she does, the party ends up being wicked. Fantastic. "Not backing out now, are you?" Rumford's warm breath tickles my ear. He laughs when I slam open the door.

We're hit with a tidal wave of heat and a blast of music. Lights are flashing and people are dancing. I can hardly hear myself think over the explosion of bass. Hell, I'm about ready to step into a side room when Red catches sight of us standing in the doorway.

"Belle!" I can't hear her but I read her lips. The next second she's in my arms and hugging me. "Join in! Start dancing!" She pushes me toward the dance floor, shoving Rumford, too, for good measure. Both of us hesitate, though Rumford pulls me to his chest. I hardly notice when he maneuvers us through the crowd and into the sweltering heat.

It's the heat I notice first. It's in everyone's eyes and movements, and when I gaze into Rumford's amber orbs, I spot it there as well. He brings me closer, urging my arms to wrap around his neck, and we lose ourselves in the music…

Our bodies move in perfect synchronization. Our breaths intertwine and become one. We're so close it only takes a few inches to press my lips to his and lose myself in his taste. His tongue duels with mine like our bodies twine on the dance floor. And when he spins me around and abandons himself to grinding against my backside, I follow him over the precipice. I work him and hear his rumble of pleasure over the pounding of music in my ears.

It's only when we're covered in sweat and have returned to frantic canoodling that we step off the dance floor. "Water," I pant, stumbling in his tight embrace.

"I'll get some." He pecks me on the lips and melts into the crowd.

My eyes scan the mass, searching for familiar faces.

There are many people from school grinding on the floor. Some of them I've spoken to, others not so much, but the majority of the people here I have never met. How Red knows all these people beats the heck out of me. I'd probably hazard a guess and say some aren't even invited.

Someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn, expecting Rumford but am miffed to see a young man I've never laid eyes on before. He's tall, has dirty-blonde hair, and bright blue eyes. A smug expression teases his lips. When he nods toward a quiet corner, I follow cautiously behind. "Hi, my name is Victor!" he yells. "Victor Frankenstein!"

"Belle." There's no way I'm telling this odd-ball my last name. Where's Rumford? He can save me from this situation.

Victor's eyes run from the tip of my toes to the hair on my head and linger a little on my breasts. "You're very beautiful!"

I'm tempted to roll my eyes. "Um, thanks."

"Would you like to dance?" He says it provocatively and waggles his eyebrows in a lascivious manner.

Just as I decide I'm going to smack him and order him to piss off, a new person jumps into the fray.

"Belles, is that you?" That voice sounds familiar and welcome.

I almost scream when I see who it is. "Graham!?" We haven't seen each other for years but he's standing two feet from me with a Cheshire grin on his lips. His grey eyes twinkle with mischief and I swear he's grown out the beard. It looks good.

"Aha! I knew it was you!" He steps past Victor and gives me a bear hug. "Red said you'd be here! I want to introduce you to my Match," he says, gesturing to the girl I'd missed earlier. "Emma Swan." Emma's tall, thin, and blonde. A true spectacle to behold.

"Nice to meet you!"

She smiles and looks slightly distressed. "Likewise!"

"Belle." I know this voice. It's Rumford's and he doesn't sound pleased. Turning, I see he's placed himself right next to me. "Friends of yours?" he asks, eyeing Victor with disdain. He wraps an arm around my waist.

"Victor just wanted a dance, but Graham is an old friend. We were buddies in middle school before I moved here." As I say it, Rumford offers me a water bottle and I kiss him in thanks. Graham's eyes widen.

"You must be Belle's Match." He studies Rumford seriously for a moment before nodding. "Let me guess… You're smart, read books, and tend to listen more than you talk…" I knock him in the shoulder. "Alright, alright," he quits, raising his hands in surrender. "We'll talk more before you go, but it was good seeing you, Belles."

"Sounds good!" I give him another hug. He and Emma are gone in seconds.

Victor shifts nervously from foot to foot; eventually he takes the hint and leaves us in the corner.

Rumford's eyes track him. "He wanted a dance?" he wonders. There's something in his tone—something sinister and horrible, and I can't quite place it. The sound makes me uneasy.

I don't like it at all.

"Yes, but then Graham came to the rescue…"

His eyes meet mine questioningly. "Belles?"

"We're old friends."

He quirks an eyebrow. "So nothing romantic happened between you two?"

It hits me like a meteor falling from the sky. The hand around my waist, the cold demeanor… Now that I think about it, it screamed 'mine' and seemed very territorial. Oh you've got to be kidding me… "Wait a second…are you jealous?"

The music volume is so loud he most likely can't hear me. Yet I know he does because he grabs my hand and leads me into an adjoining room. Only when there's a shut door between us and the party does he say, "I'm…envious of the time you had with Graham." I can tell admitting it costs him dearly; he can't quite look me in the eye. "And I was ready to kill that bastard Victor for ogling you."

"Oh Rumford…" He needn't be envious of Graham… We'll spend our entire lives together and make up for lost time. We'll have a family together. I want to tell him this, to ease his troubles—

"I have something for you." Rumford digs in his back pocket and pulls out a tiny box. He smiles at my expression. "It's a Graduation present, and before you get upset, I told you not to get me anything."

There's no point complaining, so I keep silent and watch as he opens the lid. The sight of what's inside causes me to suck in a breath.

Resting in the box is a golden locket necklace. The locket is shaped as a heart, has very intricate swirls of detail, and I'm sure the chain is pure gold. It's lovely. Priceless. "Thank you! It's beautiful…" My eyes rise to see pleasure in Rumford's features. He removes the locket and sets the box down on a nearby table.

"Let me?" I turn, holding my hair to one side. "There's a picture of me inside, so you'll always have it with you." The locket settles against my chest, feeling warm. A little fiddling and I hear its chains clasp together. "So you'll always have me," he whispers, gently pulling my hair from underneath the chain. His hands rest on my shoulders, guiding me to turn. "Wow…"

The way he smiles, the way he glows at the sight of his gift around my neck has me undone. I don't know who moves first but suddenly we're kissing—kissing like our lives depend on it. Like this is our last kiss before we go to the gallows.

My back meets the wall and Rumford lifts me so I'm straddling his hips. His silky hair is sweaty between my fingers. And while he sucks on my neck, his tongue plays with the locket's chain.

"Should we go back to the dance floor?" His voice is barely a murmur above the thrum of music.

"No. Not yet," I whisper, carding my hands through his hair.

So we continue.

* * *

**westcoastmalone prompted: "Gold and Belle meet for the first time"**

Outside the heavens are crying.

Rain falls in torrents too heavy to consider braving, so I decide to wait the weather out in the library. I'm not the only one; a few people are stuck like me and have taken sanctuary in the library as well. Though, it's annoying because they're chattering up a storm to rival the one outside. In the library. Where people study.

I sit against a bookcase near the back of the library. Although I'm far away from the noise, the sound of their ruckus travels far. Shouts of laughter, annoying squeals, and books landing hard on the floor… It's enough to drive me insane.

Where is Mrs. Trax? There's no way she'd allow this in her library.

The sound of a book being torn is the last straw.

Instantly I'm on my feet and stalking towards the sound. I march down the aisle with my book in hand and step out into the lane—when I collide into someone.

The breath is knocked out of me along with the book from my hand. I land hard on my rear, and I think the person I hit trips and falls against a bookcase because there's a dull clang. "Oh god, I'm sorry," I cry, picking up my book. The person I rushed into doesn't speak until I'm standing on my feet.

"You should watch out where you're going." I freeze. The words sound innocent enough, except for the fact that they're delivered with menace. Like a mean hiss. Slowly—oh so slowly—I brush the curtain of my chestnut curls aside and lay eyes on the young man I ran into. Shit… Any other person would have been better than him!

He stands a few inches taller than I. His brunette hair is grown out long and his eyes of amber are fierce. Fierce like the rumors say they are. And the rumors say he is someone you ought not to mess with.

It's none other than Rumford Gold.

I'm screwed.

Yet something puzzles me. When I gaze into his eyes, the fierceness seems to die and a confused, astonished expression replaces his earlier hate. "You're right," I say lightly, "I should watch out where I'm going. Excuse me—" Just as I make to brush past him, his hand catches my elbow.

That's when I'm sure my world is about to end.

But it doesn't. Rumford's grip isn't threatening; he turns my body to face him. "Are you all right?" There's concern in his eyes and it astounds me. "You landed pretty hard."

"I'm fine." My voice comes out hoarse. It's embarrassing. "Again, I'm sorry…" I mean to turn away but his hand catches my wrist this time.

"What's your name?"

My name? Is he going to report me or use it to hurt me in some kind of way? All I can think about is my parents receiving a warning. "Why?" I ask suspiciously. Coldly. This guy could ruin my Secondary School experience if I'm not careful.

Understanding dawns across his features and he releases his grip to hold out his hand. "Rumford Gold. I should have been paying more attention."

"Belle…French." I reach out to shake his hand and think fleetingly that this is a big mistake. Yet his hand clasps mine. It's warm, contrary to the rumor that says he's made of ice. He gives a small smile and I think errantly how his smile becomes him, but the sound of more jostling tears our momentary peace apart. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some telling off to do."

Before he can respond, I move past him and down the next aisle, out into the front of the library. Three boys are throwing wads of paper balls. What makes me sick with rage is the fact that the paper balls are torn pages from a book. Bastards. "Hey!" I shout. The boys pause. "How dare you ruin that book and make such noise in here! It's a library, not a playground."

"Oh-ho, look guys, it's Isabelle French to the rescue," one of them cracks, rolling his eyes.

"I'm serious," I answer, pointing my finger at him. "Go back to kindergarten if you want to play on the playground and let the big kids study."

His friends go 'oooooo' and it's clearly a challenge. The boy looks at his friends, appearing slightly hunted and pressured, and says, "Get back to your books, bitch. Everyone knows they're your only friends."

That stops me in my tracks. His words hurt like acid on an open wound…

"What did you call her?" The voice behind me makes me jump and I whirl to see Rumford Gold standing beside me. With hands clenched into fists and mouth curling into a snarl, he looks murderous. Deadly.

The boys see who it is. All the humor suddenly dies and they look terrified. For a moment they simply stand there as if they can't believe who is coming to my aid, and then they run from the library. They flee like the cowards they are. "Thank you," I manage, not able to look Rumford in the eye.

"You're welcome, Belle…" The way he says my name is unlike anything I've heard before. It's gentle and contains something I can't place. "Are you okay?"

I don't answer him. The sting of their words has not yet petered out. So I ignore Rumford's creeping hand on my upper back and decide to walk home in the rain.

* * *

**grapemartini prompted: Matched!AU "Gold goes with Belle to meet Jefferson, Belle's older friend who lost his match Alice a few years ago."**

"Rumford, I know you were jealous at the dance party, but please don't worry about my relationship with Jefferson," Belle pleads for the third time today. She looks gorgeous in a simple t-shirt and slim jeans with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, though her face is troubled with worry. "In no way is there anything romantic between us… He lost his Match Alice two years ago to terminal cancer, and I'm godmother to their girl Grace…" She trails off and absently touches the locket I gave her.

The sight of it around her neck makes me swell with pride. That she touches it when she's troubled makes me love her even more—if that's possible.

Gently I take her hand in mine. My eyes move from the locket to her soulful eyes. "Belle…you've reassured me enough. There's no need to be worried, alright?" She nods. "I love you, sweetheart."

A smile graces her full lips. "Thank you… I love you too." When she leans in for a kiss, I happily oblige her and run my free hand soothingly up and down her back. She is warm beneath my touch and murmurs approvingly as I tug on her ponytail. After a few seconds of her gentle lips teasing mine, I pull back.

"Should we go in? If this fellow is as rambunctious as you say he is, he probably thinks we're making love in the front seat," I quip, smirking when she blushes a mighty pink.

She doesn't need any more incentive and is the first to get out of the car. I mirror her movements, laughing, and pocket the keys. "You're sick," she whispers and then rolls her eyes. Before I can respond, she peers sadly at the small house and walks up the front steps.

It's the sadness that stabs at my heart. Belle shouldn't be sad. She should be grinning and laughing without a care in the world. Happy. Not this…

"Auntie Belle!"

The front door flies open before Belle even has the chance to knock. There's a blur of chestnut curls and a tiny thud and suddenly little arms are around Belle's knees. "Gracie!" Belle laughs heartily—the sound sending shivers down my spine—and hauls the toddler into her arms. And for a split-second, I imagine that she is lifting our child, our little one to rest against her hip.

I'm dazed. Speechless. Because if there's anything I desire, it's to marry Belle and start a family with her. She looks stunning, natural with a child in her arms.

What would she look like holding a boy with my dark eyes and her curls or a girl with her sapphire eyes and my soft hair?

"Belle!" a new, deeper voice calls out. A tall eccentric-looking man stands in the doorway, beaming like a madman. Without preamble, he tugs her in for a hug, mindful of his daughter in her arms. "It's good to see you!" His green eyes flick to me. "And this must be your Match!"

"Likewise, Jeffy… It's been too long," Belle says. She turns to gesture me forward and I comply. "I'd like you to meet Rumford Gold."

Jefferson sizes me up. I'd say he's around twenty-three and has quite a few inches and pounds on me. His eyes gaze fiercely into my face, searching for something. He seems to find it because a friendly smile softens his features. "Jefferson Hatter," he announces, holding out his hand. I take it.

"Pleasure to meet you."

He pokes the squirming girl in Belle's arms. "And this is my daughter Grace."

"Papa! Papa, save me! Auntie Belle's gonna eat me," Grace giggles, and Belle humors her by nipping at her nose. The innocent play catches me off-guard yet again, and I can't help but picture Belle giving a raspberry to our squirming babe. On the sheets. In our bed.

But I mustn't get ahead of myself. We have at least another year and a half before we'll bring a baby into the world. Still…one can dream.

I say nothing when Jefferson pulls us inside.

Despite its size, the house is spacious and inviting. Pictures hang on all the walls and picture frames rest on every available surface. Toys are littered about here and there, some lying on the floor or the couch. The family room is definitely the main attraction and boasts top hats on pegs like trophies.

"You two make yourselves at home. Want anything to drink?" Jefferson offers.

"Water please," Belle answers. Her attention is divided between Grace and me, and every time she catches my eye, she colors and grins. She is so beautiful…

The way she tickles the toddler and swings her around in her arms has me melting. The way she giggles when Grace attempts to topple her over has me undone. And I don't care about anything else. My Match is the only one who mattes in this moment.

Eventually Jefferson returns with a glass of cold water. He hands it to Belle and all of us claim a seat. Grace ambles over to her father and accepts his arms while Belle cuddles close beside me. I wrap an arm around her shoulders. "So when is your Marriage Contract?"

"March 15th," I say. It is an unfortunate date, but I'm not going to complain. The sooner we we're married, the better. "And then we'll be gone for two weeks."

We talk of everything and nothing. Belle asks about Grace and Jefferson details us with the 'little monster's' daily adventures. He goes on about his job and how it's progressing. At one point I become the center of attention and he questions me for my background. When I tell him my family is in the Inner Circle of the Society, he frowns and looks perturbed. It makes me want to smirk.

Belle's a steady presence through it all. She squeezes my hand affectionately and helps me explain. She's taken to my lifestyle pretty quickly, and why shouldn't she? I can give her everything. The perks of being married into the Inner Society are endless. We can have any number of children, go anywhere we want, do almost anything we want… Why shouldn't she embrace it?

When Jefferson's done interrogating me twenty minutes later, there's a lull in the conversation. He rises and hands Grace off to Belle. "Hey, I'm going to start grilling the hamburgers."

Belle takes a sip of her water and allows Grace to steal it from her. "Do you need help?"

"Rumford can help me."

I am no fool. This is his way of getting me alone without Belle to act as a buffer. But I'm not scared or intimidated, so I agree and walk with him outside.

We light the grill and while we wait for it to heat up, he eyes me suspiciously. "The Inner Circle, eh?"

With my hands in my pockets and indifferent air, I am the picture of ease. "Yes," I say calmly. Based off his earlier expression I'm expecting to hear curses of the Society that damn the Inner Circle; yet I'm utterly surprised when he brings up Belle instead.

"If you hurt her or let the Inner Circle hurt her, I will personally come after you." He hisses the words in my face. "That girl is the best there is and if you ruin her, I will show you no mercy. Do you care for her?"

"Yes, of course," I grind out.

"Then prove it to her. Do you love her?"

The question is like a blow to the gut. My feelings are my own and I rarely voice them to others, but Jefferson is waiting for an answer and some part of me doesn't want to let him down. "Of course I love her! Who wouldn't love her?"

For the first time today, Jefferson smiles at me. He slaps me on the back, all anger and intimidation gone. "Then we're of the same mind, my friend."

We get along the rest of the evening.

* * *

**Anon said: Matched!AU "Rumford's parents invite Belle and her family to their house for dinner", emilievitnux wanted: basically a dinner at the Gold's house (not quote), and anon prompted: Belle realizes Rumford is happy to be matched with her— "asks him if he had his father or other bigwigs rig the matchup".**

"Promise me," I say, staring hard at my father's eyes in our car's rearview mirror. "Promise me you won't start trouble." If he argues with the Golds while we're at their home, he could be severely punished by the Society. All it would take is a wave of Mr. Gold's hand to throw him in prison.

I shift in my seat when my father makes a left turn. "Moe…" My mother's hand reaches out and touches his forearm; she is just as anxious to keep him on a short leash. The last thing she wants is her husband getting himself into a nasty situation.

"I'll try my best," he finally acquiesces while pulling onto the highway. It eases the tension in the car. A little.

Ever since Rumford's invitation to dinner, our family has been uneasy. Even Rose—who's normally a chatterbox—senses the importance of this dinner and remains unnervingly quiet.

We're all dressed formal like we're going to dine at a high-end restaurant. My father wears one of his nicest suits while my mother sports a little black dress. Rose is dressed in a cute burgundy blouse and a black skirt that drops to her calves. I weara modest blue dress that accentuates my eyes and shows off my porcelain skin, and the locket Rumford gave me sits proudly around my neck. I know he'll love seeing me wear it. Especially tonight.

This is ournight. Our night to shine in front of our parents and show them how far we've come in just a few months. Of course my father won't be happy to see us so content, but he'll have to deal with it because I'm not abandoning Rumford. Not now. And hopefully not ever.

The more I think about it, the more I am amazed. It's hard to re-imagine the immediate horror I felt when I was Matched with Rumford at the Match Banquet, but it feels more like a dream than anything else. To think I was once frightened of him, disliked him…well, I can't fathom it now.

My father exits the highway out past the city. On this side, there are rolling mountains and thick forests, and I have to wonder what lies ahead. I have never seen Rumford's home, though I've heard it is fantastic and rests in the shadow of the mountains. He says we'll have a house just like it. It'll be secluded and large—a mansion.

I don't know whether to be excited or worried.

We pull onto a fancy road and catch sight of mansions hidden partially behind trees. Each home has a gate and a security guard at the entrance. And when we pull into the driveway our GPS tells us is Rumford's address, the iron gates and security guards beside them come as no surprise. My father slows the car and stops as one approaches.

A security guard walks up to the window. "Good evening. May I please see some form of identification before I allow you to go beyond this point?" He asks politely, though I sense an undertone of warning in his question.

Wisely, my father chooses not to challenge him. He offers up his driver's license, along with my mother's, and sits back as the guard looks both cards over. His eyes scan our vehicle and land on me. He smiles, warmly. "You must be Miss Belle," he says. I blush and nod, unsure. How does he know my pet name? Did Rumford tell him?

"Hello…"

"I am Dove, and I'll be in charge of security at your new household after the Marriage Contract." He presses a hand to his chest as he speaks and I sense he's a softy underneath all his hard muscle.

"I look forward to working with you," I say, leaning to see him better. He's massive, taller than I thought, with a bald head and sharp blue eyes. At my words, he smiles again and then waves us on, ordering the gates to be opened. They do, and my father continues through the gates and up a long, slightly winding driveway. From this angle I can't see Rumford's house but I catch flashes of light glimmering through the tree line.

It's somewhat nerve-racking. I've pictured Rumford's house hundreds of times, yet I'm blown away when we finally pull around the last bend. My breath comes out on a shaky exhale and I hear my mother murmur appreciatively in awe. Rose has her face against her window—she's so amazed. Even my father looks impressed.

Gold Manor—as it is called—glows proudly, fantastically against the backdrop of the snow-capped mountains, and the surrounding trees do nothing but enhance the beauty of the place. Made of pure, grey stone, Gold Manor resembles that of a castle. It looks three stories tall, is well-lit, and has an enigmatic atmosphere around it.

It looks like something out of a romance novel.

And I'm completely in love with it.

My father pulls around the circular driveway and parks on the edge. "Now…everyone behave themselves," I say, almost begging. "Please. For me."

Rose bounces up and down, eager to get out while my parents lock eyes for a fleeting moment. They want me to be happy, and if I ask this one favor of them, they'll do their best to remain civil.

We don't have time to discuss anything further because light spills across the grass. The Golds step out through the front, double doors just as we step out of our car. Rumford rushes to my side and is dressed handsomely in a suit with a blue undershirt and tie. We Match. Literally.

His warm eyes rove up my frame and he grins, captures my waist, and gives me a swift kiss. "You look stunning," he says, fingers straying to the locket. I blush, always flattered by his praise and place a hand on his chest, then look over his shoulder to see his parents shaking hands with mine. Rumford turns, with me at his side, and addresses them next, saying hello and shaking their hands. He laughs at Rose's shy smile.

When Mrs. Gold shakes my hand, she eyes my attire and nods approvingly. Her eyes sparkle with affection, though I haven't spoken properly with her yet. And it makes me wonder what Rumford has told them. Clearly they can see the change I've made in him, but do they know of our deep conversations or our open frankness? I hope to God they haven't heard about Red's party.

"It's good to see you again, Isabelle," Mr. Gold announces, offering me a kind smile. I haven't seen him since my run-in with Gaston, though Rumford told me he was the one who ended the matter. He had Gaston thrown in jail and rightfully so.

We proceed up the walkway with our parents ahead of us. Rose clutches my mother's hand. "What do you think?" Rumford whispers quietly, gesturing to Gold Manor. His dark eyes stare intently into mine.

"I think it's wonderful," I answer back, leaning on him. "It looks like something out of a fairytale."

He squeezes my waist. "I can give you anything…do you want a home like this one, Belle?" It's an honest question. One I don't have an answer for just yet. The manor…it's enchanting but overwhelming and I think I'd prefer something smaller. A lot smaller.

I laugh softly. "You're asking me already? I haven't even seen the inside!"

He smirks at my comment and steals another quick kiss while our parents aren't looking. "Well," he says, placing a hand on the small of my back and guiding me up the stone steps, "I can make this fairytale a reality if you desire it. All you need to do is ask."

"I know, I—" But my voice dies the moment we amble through the front doors and across the threshold. I'm sure my mouth is gaping open and I must look foolish, yet I can't help it. The interior of Gold Manor is exquisitely designed and constructed. A massive chandelier hangs overhead, casting a mysterious, welcoming light over the entrance. Floors of the richest, most exotic wood are under our feet. Expensive paintings line the walls along with priceless furniture I've only ever seen in museums.

It's enough to make my head spin.

"Wait until I show you the library," Rumford murmurs in my ear. He's pleased with my reaction, and when he looks further on and sees my parents and sister turning in a circle to stare at everything in wonder, he grins. And I can't help but notice his features are mimicked more subtly by his parents.

"Li—library?"

"Oh yes," he agrees. "You'll be impressed, I'm sure." He's teasing, I know, but I haven't the heart to reprimand him. There's no doubt in my mind I'll be impressed with the library if it's as grand as the entrance.

"Dinner is waiting," Mr. Gold prompts amiably. "After, we shall give you a tour." He clasps his hands behind his back, showing off his trimmed suit, and waits for my parents to return from their daze. For a moment, they seem torn between surveying the entrance, but then they pull themselves out of their stupor and follow Mr. and Mrs. Gold into an adjoining room.

The dining hall is just as grand as the rest of the house—with a high ceiling, elegant rosewood table, and dipping chandelier. The chairs have intricately carved backs and comfy cushions while a Persian carpet covers the floor.

Always the gentleman, Rumford follows his father's example by seating me, and I feel a wave of relief when my father catches on and seats my mother and Rose as well. He's doing well so far. I just hope nothing bad comes to pass for the next few hours.

"I hope the journey here was not too taxing?" Mr. Gold asks, accepting a glass of wine from a waiter pouring drinks. The waiters are something I'm definitely not used to and it's a little disconcerting when one leans down and asks what drink I'd prefer. I tell him 'water' and add a 'please', feeling completely out of depth. The only reassurance I have is Rumford on my right; he squeezes my hand under the table.

"Not at all." My mother sounds confident and friendly at the same time. She comes from a high middle-class family and is experienced with parties, so she feels most comfortable here. Though, I can tell the waiters are a shock to my father and Rose. "You have beautiful land here. When was this house built?"

"It has been passed down through many generations," Mr. Gold explains, looking around the room with something akin to pride. "My great, great grandfather had the manor built when he came into power several years ago."

"It's beautiful," I say, capturing everyone's interest. "It's something out of a book I've read."

Mrs. Gold perks up at my words. "So you read often? Rumford said your heart belonged to books." She smiles and takes a sip of her wine, waiting to see my reaction.

My eyes flash accusingly to Rumford, though it's all jest. He hides a smirk with his free hand, his eyes sparkling mischievously, and doesn't fight back when I squeeze his hand under the table. "Books are my passion," I say with love, "but they haven't stolen my heart. I'd say Rumford's passion is dancing."

Rumford chokes on his water and surreptitiously looks away from me. "Yes…" he says, gazing calmly at his parents. The straining in his neck shows he's trying to fight back laughter and embarrassment. "A hidden talent…"

For a moment I think they're figuring out the meaning behind our words, but waiters arrive carrying bowls of soup and dinner begins. He is safe for now.

"Rumford said you enjoyed Italian," Mrs. Gold said, gesturing to the soup. "I hope you like chicken and gnocchi." Her poise and manners are intimidating, and I can understand why Mr. Gold is her Match; they both hold an aura of regal power—of domination. Yet she seems to like me and that's enough to boost my confidence.

"I do, thank you."

Everything goes well with the soup. My mother taught Rose and me how to eat properly when we were little kids barely able to hold up a spoon.

Mr. Gold questions my father about his job but I'm sure he already knows what my father does for a living. I'm sure the second he arrived home from the Match Banquet he learned from his database. And my father doesn't disappoint. He remains civil and keeps his answers friendly.

As they speak, Mrs. Gold converses with my mother and me. She informs us that she is an avid reader and came from the same background as my mother. Her favorite book genre is mystery and she enjoys reading while in bed. Of course, that's exactly what I do. When I tell her, she beams.

Through it all, Rumford sits by my side. He helps me answer questions when I'm about to stumble. He keeps me calm and sure-footed. And it's the first time I realize how well we complement each other, and it makes sense. He is my rock. My husband-to-be. My Match. We should be supporting each other and thinking of each other as one entity. If he stumbles, I stumble. If he is nervous, I am nervous.

The realization is comforting.

It turns out the whole three course meal is Italian-themed. There are several options for the main course: lasagna, spaghetti, baked ziti… The list goes on and on. I end up feeling no shame when Rumford encourages me to try everything, for the food is sublime—perfect when eaten with the bread sticks.

Conversation during the main course encompasses a vast range of topics—from Graduation to the Marriage Contract to our futures. It makes me a bit uneasy, talking about what's in store after the Marriage Contract, but Rumford is by my side to pull me through it.

My father behaves and does not say anything rash, Rose is the picture of innocence, and my mother kicks it off with Mrs. Gold. I'm happy, to say the least. I'd worried about this night for weeks and now it turns out I didn't need to…

All is well until dessert.

My mother speaks of the honest surprise she felt the night of the Match Banquet when Rumford and I were Matched. She explains how she could not believe I'd been Matched into the 'Inner Circle', which is one of the few ways to enter.

At her words, Mr. Gold smiles and says, "Yes, it was quite a pleasant surprise. I'd call it a miracle, really, that Rumford was Matched so well." He nods to me, not catching my paling features. The way he delivered his words sounded strange to my ears, although I think I might be overreacting. It sounded…it sounded cunning and clever, like he'd perhaps played a part in the Match.

And now I really think. What if Rumford got his father or other bigwigs to rig the Match in his favor? What if that was one of the 'perks' of being in the 'Inner Circle' so to speak? Rumford certainly liked me before the Match Banquet; he said so himself…

The sting of betrayal keeps me from enjoying and savoring the chocolate mousse cake. Yet I mustn't get ahead of myself because I have to give Rumford the benefit of the doubt. He probably didn't ask his father for help. Right?

I feel unnerved and am unable to continue conversation for the rest of the meal.

No one else seems to notice this except for Rumford, and when we all stand to take a tour around the house, he declares he's showing me the library. We separate from the party. Alone. And completely unsupervised.

"Are you all right?" he asks, staring worriedly into my eyes. I don't meet his gaze, following along beside him until we stand before the large, double doors of what must be the library. "Belle, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say. Inside, I curse myself for sounding too bright, too happy. I never sound hysterical like I do now and it's no surprise when Rumford's brow furrows. He pushes open the library doors, nevertheless, and I am hit with the smell of old, well cared-for books.

The library stands two stories tall, boasting several gliding ladders, thousands of books, and numerous aisles. Cozy chairs are scattered along the first floor. It looks like the collection of books has been amassed over hundreds of years…

I should be falling to my knees right now at the sight, but my mind is in a dark place. All I can think about is Mr. Gold's chilling words. "Belle, I want you to tell me what's wrong," Rumford says, shutting the doors behind us so that we're alone. He maneuvers so he's in front of me but blocking my way to the doors. "You're scaring me. This is not how I thought you'd react."

For a second, I can't quite meet his gaze. But when he touches my cheek and runs his hand into my hair, I say, voice detached, "Did you ask your father to Match us, Rumford? Or any of his friends?"

"What?" He sounds alarmed. Upset.

"Because that's what it sounded like, coming from your father. And you were definitely happy when we were Matched—are happy we're Matched." My voice is hard, cold. I don't think I've ever sounded so emotionless.

"Belle—sweetheart—no," Rumford says frantically, grabbing my hands in his. "He had no idea. None of them did, I swear. We were Matched because the system deemed we were the best pair for each other…" His eyes are dark with worry. "Please believe me. My father's words were sincere…"

All at once I sigh and close my eyes. The anger washes away and shame is left in its wake. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have doubted you…" One tear, then two, slip down my cheeks.

"Shh…" He should be pissed at me, but he's hugging me to his chest and rubbing soothing circles down my back. "I can see how you thought that, Belle. It's okay. Just have a little more faith in me, eh?" He tilts my face up and gives me a kiss.

I nod somberly and turn my attention to the library.

He follows behind.

* * *

**afanofdeduction prompted many things :P, involving: a chipped cup, a rose, kissing/moaning, straddling, and being walked in on.**

"So do you make tea often?" I ask as Rumford offers me a delicate, fancy teacup. We sit in Gold Manor's vast library (my new favorite place) and claim two comfy chairs on the first level. Already my mark is present here. Books I am interested in are stacked haphazardly on low tables and benches. Some lie open to where I last stopped reading, and I feel slightly bad that I've left them lying about and have not returned them to their proper places, though Rumford assures me all is well. He's happy I love the library so much.

He nods now, pouring himself a cup, and his dark eyes settle on my lips as I blow, then sip cautiously at my tea. "Very often," he says, pleased when I sigh in appreciation. "And it's real tea, my sweet. Not those awful bags."

"Hey." My tone is mockingly hurt. "I've used teabags my whole life."

He raises his eyebrows, and then shakes his head in sadness. "You will never use teabags again. I'll make sure of it when we stock our home." He speaks of our marriage and future with such easiness that I'm surprised. Happy. It's reassuring, comforting to hear him speak of us as an entity. Some Matches pray for the unity we presently have.

I take another sip of my tea, savoring its warmth and minty taste. "Oh?" My voice is heavy with sarcasm and taunt.

His head snaps up at my teasing tone, his eyes growing dark. "Oh?" he repeats, setting down his cup to lean forward in his seat. He waits eagerly as I bat my eyelashes.

"I was just thinking about our home. It'll have our kitchen, our library, our bedroom, our bed…" I say slowly…seductively, giving a small gasp when Rumford's face pools with lust. And just as he stands to trap me in my seat, a knock sounds on one of the doors. He pauses in his steps, looking perturbed, while the right door opens.

A maid pokes her blonde head in, green eyes bright. "Sir, your mother asked for you in the dining hall. She says it will only be a moment."

I watch as Rumford straightens. For a moment I think he's bristling but then I realize he's proud of the way the maid addresses him—that he likes being called 'sir'. It takes all my will power not to giggle and wound his vanity. So I bury my face in a pillow, clinging to my cup of tea with the other hand, until Rumford acknowledges the maid. I start laughing the moment we're alone again. "You have to be along now my good sir…" I mock, allowing my laughs to grow loud.

His lips pressing against mine stops them. He's all eagerness, pent up desire, and fire, and I give an unladylike squeak when his tongue slips between my lips.

Unable to think properly, my grip on the cup slackens and it tumbles out of my hand.

The tinkling crack of it hitting the floor pulls us apart.

We look down over the edge of the seat. There, lying chipped on the floor, is the cup. "Oh God, I'm sorry!" I apologize, pushing Rumford off to scramble and pick it up. "It's probably an antique…"

Rumford watches me in disbelief. "Belle," he murmurs, taking the cup along with my hands in his, "it's just a cup. Don't worry at all… I'll be right back." He rises, giving me a swift kiss, before taking the cup from my hands and setting it on the table. Then he leaves, gently closing the library doors behind him.

Luckily, there wasn't much tea left, so only a little spilled onto the floor.

I wipe up the mess with a few napkins, still feeling awful for breaking such a beautiful piece of art. Rumford has to be lying about it just being 'a cup' because darn thing has gold plated around the bottom rim! There's no way something unimportant has gold attached to it…

Rumford is true to his word and finds me minutes later frantically pacing back and forth in front of our seats. He hides a hand behind his back, smiling at my obvious discomfort. "Belle, honestly, it's all right. The cup isn't worth anything," he croons, watching my hand to stop me. "And even if it was worth something, I would not stop loving you chipping it."

"Your parents—"

He rolls his eyes, appearing boyish. "My parents have several priceless artifacts. You think they'd care about a tiny teacup that has numerous brethren? Belle, there are about ten others like it in design. Trust me."

When I relax with a sigh, he grins and skillfully bows while revealing the hand behind his back. A lovely rose rests in his hand, dark red in color and still speckled with water. It's so perfect and sweet that I can't help but smile. "For you…if you'll have it?" Rumford says, coloring slightly.

Automatically, my hand reaches out to take it from him. "Why thank you, sir," I say, curtsying. He claps his hands together, content at my acceptance and for a moment, I simply smell the rose and relish its fresh scent. But then I grab a nearby vase and stick the rose's stem inside it. "We'll have to cut it and get water…"

"In a little while…" His voice is nearer then I thought—his breath tickling my ear. "I believe we have unfinished business, Miss French." Warm hands grace my sides, shifting as their owner plops himself into my seat. The hands urge me to straddle his lap, and I find myself complying and gazing face-to-face with my Match.

"Oh really, Mr. Gold?" I purr, running my hands up his sides, his chest, before carding them through his hair. His eyes are dilated, filling with lust, his breath ragged and short. And he shudders when I press forward, giving him a deep, and wet, perfect kiss.

Our tongues dance while his hands splay on my back, rubbing soothing circles. When I scratch his scalp with my nails, he groans—but the groan is cut off at the sound of a powerful voice in the library's doorway:

"Rumford, I need to speak with you…"

Both of our eyes snap open and I nearly shriek because I know who it is. Even though I'm facing the opposite direction, I'd recognize Mr. Gold's charismatic voice anywhere. The shock in Rumford's amber eyes shows he knows who it is as well—that he knows who is currently watching us. With me. Straddling his lap. Canoodling.

We've been caught.

Fuck.

"Father," Rumford says half-heartedly, voice higher than normal. He lifts me off his lap, yet all I want to do is bury my face in his shoulder and wish this all away. Hell, I think my face is beet red right now. I can't even look Rumford in the eye right now.

My eyes trail to the doorway and spot Mr. Gold, dressed in suit and tie, holding the handle of the door he opened. His mouth is opened as if he's about to speak. His eyebrows are lifted. This is the first time I've ever seen him discomposed.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat and I think fleetingly that we're about to be in trouble. "We…we'll talk later," he decides.

And before either of us can respond, he hastily shuts the door.

"Oh my God…" I whisper. "Did he just leave?"

Rumford looks astonished, meeting my eyes with a quizzical look. "I…I think he did." He seems to take in my face and expression then because he smirks.

"Don't you dare laugh."

He laughs.

* * *

**afanofdeduction said: Matched!AU "Gold explains why he's an ass". **

"Are you cold?" Rumford asks anxiously when I tighten my coat around my small frame. His warm fingers brush flyaway curls back from my face while his arm wraps around my waist. "I have a blanket back at the car, sweetheart."

I shake my head. "No, I'm fine… A cool breeze never hurt anyone," I tell him earnestly, though he still looks worried.

We've decided to take a stroll through the park today and see the leaves changing as autumn makes its grand appearance. Golden leaves fall around us, mixed with shades of orange and red. The breeze carries them to the grass and trodden trails, so there's a constant crackle under our feet. It's childish but fun to reach out and pick beautiful leaves off the ground.

Rumford laughs when I scramble out of his hold to snatch a few leaves out of the air. "Don't trip," he cautions after, putting his gloved hands in his pockets. "You're such a klutz, my love."

Snorting, I reach for another leaf and pluck it skillfully from its descent. "You're such a worrywart." I tease him, expecting a smile at my playfulness, but it never comes. Instead, he frowns. Shrugs. And I fear I might have hurt his feelings. "What's wrong?"

In answer, he beckons me to return to his side and holds out a hand.

I place my empty hand in his without hesitation, for it's such a natural response now. We've grown so used to being close—open with each other that we don't have to think to offer sweet kisses or comforting hugs. "I worry about your safety; you know that," he murmurs. He ducks his head to give me a quick kiss. "I'm…jealous of what is mine."

"Is that why you act the way you do?" The question leaves my mouth before I have the ability to rein it in.

He chuckles darkly. "You mean why I'm such an ass?" he asks as he urges me into step beside him. "Why I treat others the way I do?"

Flushed and embarrassed, I whisper, "Yes, but I didn't call you an 'ass'." I've always wondered how he can be so kind toward me yet so terrible and cruel towards others. If he was as friendly and enticing to everyone as he is towards me, people would like him; they would be friends with him. I'm sure of it.

"I've always been the odd one out," he says softly, kicking a rock with his shoe. "No one ever talked to me unless they had to, so I focused my time on studying. Whenever I let people get close, they would hurt me some way in the end. Use me in some manner. And I thought that no one could truly ever love me—except my family.

"But it wasn't until I hit high school when I fully understood the Match System. It was then when I felt hope, because if anyone could love me, it would be my Match." He turns to gaze intensely into my eyes. "You, Belle. So to answer your question…I act the way I do because I love and care for few things, and the things I love…well, I won't let anyone touch them."

We slow, and I feel so awful for Rumford. That people have hurt him and he feels the need to ostracize himself hurts me. Though, I'm also pleased he is Matched with me. There is no doubt I love him now—that we'll be happy together despite our differences and beliefs.

"Well," I say, cupping his cheek. "You were right about one thing: I do love you."

And when I stand on my tip toes to kiss him, he slips his arms around my waist and pulls us close together.

* * *

**Anon prompted: Matched!AU "Does Rumford have any friends? If he does, maybe he introduces some to Belle."**

"So you're Rumford's Match?" Cora asks, sounding disinterested and snobbish.

I turn in my chair to perceive her eyeing me from across the room. She looks away once she has my attention and back to the vase she is studying. Her hair is in an updo too fancy for my tastes and she sports a ruby red dress, accentuating her porcelain skin.

"Yes," I tell her steadily. "I am." It's no secret she wishes Rumford was her Match, though every time Henry is in the room, she makes a show of fawning over him. It makes me sick to think Rumford is friends with her, though I do like Henry. He's a sweet guy. A gentleman. And he deserves better.

We're at a small party the Golds are hosting to celebrate the Society, and our Matches have left the room to fetch us punch. Leaving us alone. Together… Cora's a bitch and pretty high on my hit list when Rumford and I are married. This whole night she's bashed my parents, made fun of my tastes, called me ugly, pointed out my failings, and has, overall, made me feel extremely uncomfortable. Not even Rumford's reassuring presence is enough of a balm to sooth my newfound hatred for the girl. Hell, I rarely dislike anyone, but Cora Grimes is something else.

"Pity," she says in a snarky manner.

"He doesn't think so." My mother would be shocked at my lack of manners, but I don't care. It seems my gloating tone has set her on edge, and she grows red in the face. Good. She's made several strikes against me tonight and this just so happens to be the first one I've made against her.

When she opens her mouth to say something vile, Rumford and Henry return bearing fruit punch. Rumford immediately heads straight for me, smiling with a twinkle in his eye. No doubt he knows a battle of the wits just took place while they were away. "Here you go, sweetheart," he says, offering me a cup. "David and Snow just arrived, so they should be in here soon."

"Are they other friends of yours?" I wonder, and take a sip of the punch.

He raises his eyebrows, sensing the sarcasm in my words. "I used to see a lot of David and James—his twin brother—when our parents had meetings. Snow came with her father and always gave us a run for our money. I think you'll like her; she's a good person."

"She is," Henry agrees. He wraps an arm around Cora's waist and brings her closer to the circle of chairs. "David is as well, though I can't say the same for James. I'm sure you'll like him, Belle."

"Isn't James Matched with Jacquelyn?" Rumford asks while I nod. He claims the chair directly next to mine and puts an arm around my shoulders. "I think that's what David told me."

Henry laughs, deep and warm, and it makes me smile. Cora, on the other hand, frowns reproachfully at him. "Oh yes," Henry says, ignoring her look and snickering, "I forgot about her. Those two make quite a sneaky pair. Be careful around them, Rumford."

Just as the words finish leaving his mouth, the door to our room opens.

Standing in the doorway is a tall, handsome young man holding the hand of a slim girl with long ebony locks and wondrous emerald eyes. They make quite a beautiful Match—with his good looks and her natural beauty—and are dressed color coordinated for the occasion. Rumford stands, helping me to my feet. "Ah. David, Snow, right on time."

"Sorry we're late," David apologizes, and I'm surprised by the sincerity of his tone. His voice is smooth and kind. Enticing. "Rumford, Cora, Henry, good to see you."

Rumford places a hand against the small of my back, giving me the confidence to step forward. "And this is my Match…Belle," he says, introducing me.

The girl, Snow, studies me carefully, as if she's trying to determine if I'm like Cora or not. I give her a generous smile and offer my hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too," she answers, grinning, and I know I've made a good first impression. They both seem sweet like Henry. And it makes me feel better knowing that Rumford has these two looking out for him, even if he thinks he's alone.

* * *

**Anon prompted: Matched!AU "I want to see our Gold interact with his infamous father—does he also agree with society, or is he secretly discontent? What about his Dad?"**

When I knock on the door to my father's study, I know I am in for a world of hurt. The fact that he wanted to speak with me in the first place is a bad sign, but it doesn't help that he walked in on us making-out in the library. Belle was in my lap for Christ's sake!

Though, I think I can present my case well. We weren't going to proceed beyond canoodling (as she likes to call it), no matter how much I would have liked to. Hell, now it seems like every time we're alone, I want to take us some place quiet and make love to her… But the damned law keeps us apart and I will not disobey the Society's laws no matter how much I want to. They are in place for a reason, and if I was to break them, it would not reflect well on my parents.

"Enter," my father's voice calls.

I clear my throat, brush down my shirt, and open the door.

My father sits behind his expensive rosewood desk, studying me as I step over the threshold and close the door. "Rumford," he says carefully, "sit." Without hesitation, I follow his order and claim one of the chairs directly in front of him. "You've seen Isabelle off?"

"Yes, sir." He looks powerful reclining in his chair, with his hair sleeked back and his hands folded on the tabletop.

"Care to explain what happened in the library? You're lucky, Rumford, that it was I—not your mother—who interrupted you two." He's right. If it had been my mother, she might have shrieked.

I decide honesty is the best policy in this case. "I lost control. I'm sorry, father. We weren't going to do anything…to break the law. I swear."

Silence stands between us once I finish, and I watch as he leans forward and tents his fingers beneath his chin. "I'm pleased I don't have to remind you of the law, Rumford. There are reasons why the two of you must wait and the Society knows them, whether or not you do. I will not have my son break the laws I have helped put into place. Your mother would be very disappointed if you broke them. I would be very disappointed."

"Yes, sir." There's no point arguing. He's right. Like always.

"When I pass my power and position on to you, I want to be able to trust you."

"You can," I assure him, sitting up straighter. Because if there's anything I look forward to—besides my approaching marriage to Belle—it is gaining access to the main circle of power in the Society. I can't wait to establish my position, my influence, and do it all with Belle at my side. "We've broken no laws, father. We'll wait until we're married through the Contract." And then we'll start a family… I'll have power at my beck and call, Belle in my arms, and perhaps a family in the coming year.

Everything will be right. Perfect even.

"I believe you," he announces. "I want to see you succeed." For a moment his eyes soften and I think of how uncharacteristically worried he is. "Remember that, Rumford. There will be consequences if you disobey the law, and I'd rather not see my son thrown in jail. Now leave me."

"Yes, sir." He's not angry. And he's not going to punish me.

I leave, feeling like the luckiest bastard alive.

* * *

**druidkitty prompted: "Matched!au how bout belle brings rum home to have dinner with her parents :) that would be fun". **Oops. Silly me for making this the most angst-iest prompt I've answered so far. You've been warned! This piece moves along quickly, is slightly jumbled since it's from Belle's POV, and is full of angst. 3

I'm a pile of jittery nerves. Not because the Marriage Contract is less than three months away or because Rumford won't tell me where we're going for our honeymoon. No. I'm freaking out because, for the first time this year, Rumford is staying over for dinner at my house.

The world is going to end…

With the Marriage Contact looming closer and closer, my father has been in a foul mood. He hates to think his precious, obedient daughter will be married away to some 'Inner Circle scum' in a few months' time. Even when I tell him I'm happy and want to marry Rumford, he still disagrees; he says I've been poisoned, that my mind has been polluted.

His words cut deep, eating at my heart, and what's worse: I can't even vent to Rumford. If he finds out my father is secretly against the Society, he'll keep me as far away from my father as possible once we're married. I'm sure if he finds out, our future children will never be able to see 'grandpa' because he'll be so paranoid.

That's another thing I am terrified about. What would Rumford say if I told him I disapprove of the Society and most of its laws? Would he say I'm being unreasonable? That I'm ignorant of the Society itself? Would he hate me?

I just don't know…

It all comes crashing down when Rumford knocks on my front door. I'm so terrified, and it must show on my face because the second I open the door, his welcoming smile vanishes. "Belle? What's wrong?" he asks, stepping into the house and shutting the door behind him. It's a wise decision, for it's freezing outside, and if I'm going to cry, I don't want to cry in the cold.

I don't say anything. I simply tug him into my father's private library, lock the door, and bury my face in his expensive, fancy jacket. "Belle—sweetheart—you're scaring me. Did someone hurt you?" He wraps his arms tightly around my shaking frame. "Belle, please…" He sounds strained. Frightened.

"I'm sorry," I say, voice broken. He tries to gently tug my head back so he can see my face. I don't let him. "I shouldn't be like this—I'm just so…so done. I just want to marry you, and then we can live in peace by ourselves…"

"What's going on? Are your parents bothering you?" His tone grows menacing, dangerous, and I feel it in my bones: I have to protect my parents. All it would take is Rumford saying something to his father to get my father tossed in jail.

"No," I lie, pulling back so he can look into my watery eyes. A shadow of anger passes over his features, and I realize he doesn't believe me. He thinks I'm saving them from trouble. It's true that I am, but he can't know that for my father's sake. "Rumford, no. I—I'm just overwhelmed…"

It doesn't help. He holds me tighter, making sure he can see my expression, and questions, "What is going on, Belle?" When I tilt my head to glance away, he catches my jaw and turns it back to him. "I want to know."

"I said I'm overwhelmed," I repeat before placing my head on his chest, just below his chin. He grumbles, gently swaying me back and forth in his arms before kissing my hair.

"You know I hate it when you lie to me," he whispers in my ear, and I freeze, hands fisting in his jacket. "You're a bad liar, Belle. Something's wrong and you're upset. If I have to confront your parents to find out what's happening here while I'm not present, I will. Don't make me. Now…" He pulls back to stare intensely into my eyes. "Tell me what's going on, my love."

Tears streak down my cheeks. "It…it's my father…" The words come out weak like a whimper, and Rumford frowns deeply. He's never seen me this distraught—though perhaps our run-in with Gaston comes close. This desperation was caused by weeks of sneaking around, dealing with my father's explosive behavior, and having my confidence torn down again and again. And even though he hasn't said anything, I'm sure Rumford has sensed my strange mood.

Rage gleams in his dark eyes and his mouth turns down into a thin line. "What's he done, Belle?" he wonders, voice deadly. "What did he do to you?"

"He didn't do anything…"

Rumford opens his mouth to speak, conflict evident in his features, but a knock sounds on the library's door, cutting him off. "Belle? Mama said dinner is ready and you have to be in the kitchen soon!" Rose calls, and we hear the sound of her footsteps fade away. The moment distracts him enough, allowing me to break free of his vice-like grip.

"We'd better go." My hand shakes as I reach out to unlock the door, and then open it.

I don't get far.

The second my fingers caress the cool metal of the doorknob, Rumford's twists my body from behind and pins me against the door so that we're chest to chest. We're so close his breath tickles my skin. And for the first time since I saw his violence toward Gaston, I'm scared at what he might do if I don't capitulate.

Though, my fear flees when he presses his lips to mine in a tender kiss. His arms snake around my small frame, one of his hands tangling in my hair while the other rubs my back. "Tell me," he murmurs. He kisses away my tears, moves gently up my jaw, and hisses lowly, "Tell me, Belle."

"N—no." This is so unexpected, and I'm caught completely off-guard. It must've been his intention to catch me unawares because he pushes his advantaging and gives me another searing kiss. One of his knees moves between my wobbling legs.

I'm sure I would have given in if I'd not been saved by my mother's voice saying directly outside the door, "We're waiting on you two." The doorknob jiggles with her attempt to open it. "Unlock this door right now!"

Rumford growls, pulling away, and gives me space to move. He runs his hands down his jacket, smoothing out rumples that aren't there. "Your hair," he mouths. His fingers gently tuck strands of my tresses back into order.

"I said open this—"

Before my mother can finish her words, I turn the knob and pull back the door. Her eyes sparkle warningly and they flash down our clothes, making sure we aren't doing anything inappropriate. "Sorry," I say, "We were talking."

"Dinner." My mother points toward the dining room and practically breathes down our necks as she follows us. Thank God she hasn't looked carefully at my face or else she'd see my puffy eyes. "Rumford, I hope you like streak and mashed potatoes."

"I do, thank you."

We walk into the dining room, which looks nice because the table is set with fancy silverware and delicate plates. My father reclines in his chair at the head of the table; he absently holds a wineglass between his fingers, and his gaze is disapproving when he sees Rumford.

Rumford stares him down, back stiff and face dark.

This isn't going to end well. Already I can sense the disdain he has toward my father. What's worse is the fact that my mother has set his plate right next to him, so they'll be closer then I believe wise. When we sit down, I grab his hand underneath the table and give him a pleading squeeze, yet the action only fuels his anger because my hand shakes.

"Enjoy," my mother announces, smiling. We pass around the bowl of mashed potatoes and Rumford ends up serving me because my hands cannot stop trembling. Once he's done piling on my plate, he cuts into his steak, takes a bit, and while his hand is free, rubs my thigh soothingly. "Belle said the location of your honeymoon was a secret?"

There are times when my mother understands everything—sees everything, but then there are other times when she is completely tactless. Like now. Her words could not have been spoken at a worse moment… My eyes flick to my father to see his reaction just as he bangs his fist down on the table. Everyone at the table flinches. Except Rumford. He sits unaffected, looking proud.

"Is something wrong, Mr. French?" he asks civilly, putting his fork down.

"Yes, something's wrong!" my father yells. "You're marrying my daughter, you piece of scum."

I'm so terrified by his tone that I shrink in my seat. But I spring out of it when my father's hand fists in Rumford's shirt.

"Stop!" I shriek, getting between them despite Rumford's best efforts to push me out of danger. "Papa, stop!"

"Belle, get out of the way," Rumford snarls and there's an undertone of worry in his voice. He doesn't want me to get hurt or caught between them.

"No," my father corrects. "Get out." He directs the words into my face, leaving me breathless with shock and hurt. Did he mean me or Rumford or both of us? "Get out," he repeats, shoving Rumford backwards. "You're not my daughter if you love someone like him."

"Moe—"

"No." He raises his hand to halt my mother. "I've had enough." Her eyes widen but she doesn't speak as Rumford grabs my elbow and marches us out of the room. If there has ever been an extremely embarrassing moment in my life, it pales in comparison to the embarrassment I'm experiencing right now. My parents are kicking me out of this house. And who knows for how long…?

The house quakes beneath my unsteady footsteps. Oh wait… It's not the house that's shaking… It's me. "Belle," Rumford says, pulling me tight against his body. "Do you want me to come upstairs and help you pack?"

I blink. "Pack?"

"Yes, sweetheart. You'll be staying with me for a while, all right?"

"O—okay… No…I can handle it." It's all a blur as I climb slowly up the stairs, somehow locate my room on the second level, and open my bedroom door. I'm able to move with more purpose once I turn on the light and spy a backpack sitting in the corner of my room. Without thinking, I stuff at least two days' worth of clothes into it, and then stumble to Rose and mine's bathroom to grab a toothbrush. After I zip the backpack closed, I cling on to the stair's railing and hobble down to the first floor.

Rumford waits at the bottom of the staircase, and is speaking quickly on his cell phone. He has my jacket folded over his arm. "We'll be there soon, Father—" He looks up at the sound of my approach, eyeing my weak movements. "Can you have Martha warm up some soup? Thank you." In a flash, he ends the call and takes the backpack off my shoulders. "Let me help you with your coat…" He's all soft movements as he eases my arms through the correct holes and makes sure everything is secure. When he's satisfied I'm well-dressed for the weather, he opens the front door and guides me outside.

It's freezing, and I nearly keel over at the first blast of wind.

Any sort of movement becomes a struggle.

Rumford ends up dropping my bag, scooping me into his arms, and carrying me to the passenger side of his car. Somehow he manages to support me while opening the door. "Thank you…" I murmur once I'm settled and he's snapped me in.

He cups my cheek, looking grim. "Let me get your bag. I'll be right back."

I don't remember him getting in the car…

I can't recall the car starting or it shifting into motion…

All I remember is closing my eyes and wishing this day away—so it's a shock when I waken to someone lifting me from my seat. Instantly, I'm sobbing and freaking out, but Rumford's face appears in the mayhem. His voice sooths, "It's just me, sweetheart. We're at my house. Let me carry you inside."

More voices sound in the gloom and I think I hear Mr. and Mrs. Gold. "What happened?"

"Get her inside."

"Set her down—carefully."

"Celia, fetch a blanket."

A wave of sadness washes through my mind. Here are Mr. and Mrs. Gold—my in-laws—and they care more for my safety then my parents do. My father has ostracized me. My mother has allowed him to. Yet here are the 'evil' Golds my father loves to criticize, and they're the ones worried. They're the ones fussing and working together to make me warm.

It's heartbreaking because everything has gone so well this past year…and now this happened, ruining my excitement for the Marriage Contract…

I close my eyes to escape the torment.

* * *

**Note: Marriage-related prompts will be next. **


	9. Marriage Contract and More

**Author's Note: Okay, so I normally don't accept prompts on FF or Ao3, but I will try and get your guys' prompts done in the recent reviews. It may take a while, but I promise I'll try. Thanks so much for your guys' comments!**

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**Anon asked: Matched!AU "Can we please see the marriage contract?" **Okay, I bet I'm going to get complaints for this one . but I ended it where I did because I felt I couldn't do any further justice to the dialogue. Remember, the Society is sort of communistic, so it won't be a regular wedding/setting. 3

AHH! and thanks to druidkitty for beta-ing 333

I can't explain how nervous I am right now. Rumford and I have waited nearly a year for the Marriage Contract to happen.

And today we'll finally be married.

I'm so happy I can hardly think straight.

Of course with everything that happens there is always one downside, and the downside is my father will not be able to join the after party at Gold Manor. He'll be present with my mother and sister during the Marriage Contract, but Mr. Gold has specifically stated if he steps one toe out of line, he will be kicked out.

Since my father's last outburst at dinner a few months ago, I've been living with Red. My parents have entreated me to return home, but at Rumford and his parent's insistence, I haven't gone back. And I never plan on going back, except to visit them on occasion and spend time with Rose.

It took _a lot_ of explaining and pleading to convince the Golds my father was only overwhelmed at having me leave home. I claimed he wasn't used to grandeur, for he had never experienced it at the level he was now, and was still adapting to it. In the beginning, they hadn't believed me, thinking I was covering for him. Rumford even voiced my worst fears when he said he thought my father disliked the Inner Society or the Society in general. Yet, as time passed, I was able to persuade them and keep my father out of jail.

So my father is going to be at the Marriage Contact...and I pray he won't mess it up for Rumford and me. Today is _our _day. _Our _day to become husband and wife.

We've been waiting for this day for so long and when I think of what tonight will bring or the subsequent nights we'll have together, I almost grow weak in the knees. We'll be a family. We'll _start _a family. I'll finally be able to see the house Rumford says will be ours. And we'll raise our _children_ in that house. It's almost too much to take in. Almost.

The Marriage Contract will be short as is protocol. The ceremony generally takes up to thirty minutes at the most, for there is always another couple waiting to sign their contract and receive their rings.

Every Match is provided the Marriage Contract, so the real planning is for the after party. Generally, the bigger the party is, the wealthier the couple is—or will become. In our case, the party we've planned is going to be huge. The whole Inner Society will be present. All of my friends will be there. And I'm sure we're all going to have a wonderful time.

Then after the party...Rumford is taking me on a private jet to our honeymoon destination. I still have _no _idea where we're going or where we are staying during our two weeks alone. Rumford has teased me, saying I won't find out until we're there. He's been an adorable pain in the ass these past few weeks.

Now here we are.

Mrs. Gold, my mother, and my friends have helped me get ready for the Contract. It's a rule that the colors of the Society (red, white, and black) are worn by the Match for the ceremony, and in this case, I've decided to wear a full white gown—like the women in the old novels I've read. Rumford will be wearing a black suit with a burgundy tie.

The gown I've chosen fits my frame very well. It cascades down my slim body, accentuating my angles yet leaving a hint of mystery to my curves. The neckline is modest and styled. The hem goes all the way to my feet, and I thank God I'll have my father escorting me into the Marriage Contract or else I'm sure I would fall.

For the occasion, Mrs. Gold and my mother have teamed up to get my hair into a fantastic updo. Ringlets curl down my exposed back and right cheek while most of my chestnut tresses are pinned up on my head. The updo looks like something royalty used to boast hundreds of years ago before the Society. How Mrs. Gold and my mother achieved it, I have no clue.

They finish an hour later when my face is dabbled lightly with makeup. Too much, Mrs. Gold says, would tarnish my natural beauty. We've grown close these past two months. She's been my mentor in preparing, always listening to what I have to say and taking my words into account. It's no wonder Rumford adores his mother. She has style and etiquette, yet a sassy humor I've noticed Mr. Gold enjoys.

As I've watched Rumford's parents, I've wondered if we'll turn out like them. Mr. Gold is powerful—a force to be reckoned with, while Mrs. Gold is clever and witty—a truly wonderful woman. They both complement each other well and work as a team. Will Rumford and I be just as compatible? Will we work well together? No doubt it will take time and years to achieve the unity Mr. and Mrs. Gold have, yet I can't help but hope for the best.

Just as we began our journey as Matches at City Hall, we'll start our life as husband and wife there. It is where all Marriage Contracts take place. And ours is the first of the day.

The private ride there is short and quick. I think to myself that this time, it is much easier to travel to City Hall then it was the night of the Match Banquet. Last time, I'd looked to the stars in envy, but now I can't see them and don't search for them. Rumford and I have come so far in the past year. I can't imagine hating him now, and I have great trouble trying to feel the worry I did that night long ago.

So much has changed in so little time.

All of this is amazing really. To think we started off not talking and edgy around each other. Now I have no qualms confiding in Rumford. The only topic I have not yet broached with him is the Society and my belief that it is controlling. Though...perhaps there are secrets too buried deep to voice.

When our private limo pulls around to a side entrance of City Hall, my heart skips a beat. Inside the massive building are Rumford, his father, and all our guests. In less than an hour, we'll be married and our time waiting will be up. We'll have the party...and then we'll be on our honeymoon.

"Nervous?" my mother asks me while she grabs my hand. She steadies me as I descend to the pavement. Mrs. Gold is right beside her, making sure I've got my balance before releasing my elbow.

Nodding, I blush and look at City Hall. "Yes," I admit, voice quiet.

Mrs. Gold smiles knowingly. She stays on my left while we walk up the steps to City Hall. "I was," she says. "It's natural, and I'll tell you Rumford is probably just as anxious." She looks dashing in her violet dress with her hair done up. My mother does too.

"At least it's a short ceremony, sweetheart," she says. Since my father's outburst, she's felt terrible for not doing anything. She hadn't put her foot down to defend me, and she feels terrible for not doing so. I haven't been able to forgive her yet, but today I'm thinking about turning over a new leaf. So much change is happening... I might as well fix my broken relationship with my mother before I go.

"Yeah," I murmur, taking her hand then squeezing it in mine.

We reach the landing and a gentleman opens the doors for us.

Unlike the front of City Hall (where the Match Banquet took place), the back is dedicated to Marriage Contracts. It is just as vast and grand, with high ceilings, long halls, and expensive furniture. Even the carpets are clean, though I'm sure they've been trodden on countless times. It's a feat they've been maintained so well over the years.

Already the place is buzzing with life. I can hear voices ringing inside the hall where the Marriage Contract is about to take place. Their voices flutter quietly in reverence for the moment of my entrance. Though, they have a few more minutes because I need to calm myself before we go in.

My father waits at the front of the closed doors, and when he sees me, he pauses in his motion to pull me in for a hug. Although we haven't spoken since the incident, he's promised to behave for my sake (and I believe the fear of being kicked out and thrown in jail keeps him under control as well). "You...you look beautiful, Belle," he whispers, eyes uncharacteristically bright. He looks good in his tailored suit with his hair combed back.

"Thanks, Papa..." My voice is uneven and a little shaky. I haven't called my father 'Papa' in a while; it's what I used to call him habitually when I was little. And I can see the effect my endearment has in his watery eyes.

"We'll go in, and the ceremony will start in a few minutes," Mrs. Gold says gently, giving me another smile before slipping with my mother into the cavernous room. They close the door quickly before anyone can see me, and their action doesn't help because I crane my neck to gaze in. I don't see anything, except for the large crowd that is gathered on both sides of the main aisle.

My father looks at the door then back to me. "Ready?"

I'm not ready at all. My heart pounds like a machinegun, banging hard against my ribcage. It's almost too hard to breathe, yet I force in deep gulps of air. There are so many people beyond those doors...just waiting to see me walk down the aisle. Their eyes will be riveted on my face and I've always hated attention...

But this will be worth it with Rumford down at the end of the walkway. Once this craziness is over we'll have two weeks to ourselves. All of this tedious planning, all this waiting—_everything_—will come to pass. All the stress we've had will finally end.

Just take deep breaths...

For a moment I'm thankful I didn't have much time between the car ride and the ceremony. Because I'm sure I would have fainted or—with my luck—done something worse.

"I think—" I start to speak but the sound of the Society's anthem begins playing, and that's our cue. My father forces a smile and offers his arm. He looks on the verge of tears. "Promise to be good?" My voice is soft. Pleading.

"For you," he agrees. "Because it's your big day." The way he says it, I know this is his way of apologizing for everything. He's not strong enough to admit it outright but he's sorry enough to show it in his actions. And although he's made my life hell these past few months, I can't possibly think of hating him now.

It's enough.

I take his proffered arm, holding tight as if I can anchor myself to him. As a child, I never worried about him dropping me or letting go. I remember his reassuring arms hugging me to his chest or his firm hand in mine. He'll keep me from falling.

The anthem continues until it reaches a short lull. That's when the doors open.

I had guessed right. Without my father's steadying arm, I _would _have fallen at the sight of everyone staring in my direction. At the hundreds of people that have turned up for Rumford and mine's Marriage Contract.

There are so many faces, twisted to watch our slow progress, and I quickly force myself to put one foot in front of the other. Moving down the aisle is even harder then I imagined because the weight of everyone's stares is overwhelming.

My heartbeat pounds in my ears. Adrenaline sprints in my veins, but when I gaze down the walkway and see Rumford standing there, waiting for me, I can't help but grin. There he stands, back straight, looking proud. He looks at me with an intensity I think I've seen before—though I'm not sure I've seen his eyes appear quite so powerful.

When I look into his amber eyes, everyone else melts away. I'm sure they are all murmuring and watching, but Rumford is all I see. He is incredibly handsome in his tailored suit with burgundy tie and hair neatly combed. He smiles back at me, a soft private smile that I'm sure all our guests can see, though he must not care. This is all about us. This is _our _moment.

It feels like eternity before we reach the end of the aisle and my father passes me off to Rumford's arm. He doesn't make eye-contact with him and goes to his seat as soon as I'm settled.

"You are so beautiful," Rumford whispers. The warmth of his breath tickles my ear, urging me to look up. Slowly, I lift my head to peer into his impossibly dark eyes. "My Belle..." I barely catch his words over the orchestra playing the magnificent anthem.

"Yours," I agree softly, eyes flicking from his to see our Society Official nodding at me in welcome. As is protocol, every Marriage Contract must be ordained by an Official. He or she is present to confirm the Contract and make sure everything runs smoothly. There will be a speech on what the Society expects of us as husband and wife, then he'll cover the Society's marriage laws (though I think there will be few in our case since we are part of the Inner Society). Then there is the signing and we'll receive our silver boxes. This time they won't contain microcards. _This _time they'll hold our rings.

The anthem gradually dies and the last tendrils of music fade away. Our Official, an older man, possibly ten years my father's senior, bids our guests sit. Rumford and I remain standing.

By the end of the Contract, I'm sure my knees will be shaking. Because even though Rumford is a steady rock at my side, I am still a nervous wreck. _Everyone_ is watching. Everyone is paying attention.

It's almost too much to bear.

Rumford senses the tension in my limbs "I've got you," he breathes, putting his other hand over mine resting on his forearm. He gives my fingers a tender squeeze. "I'm here."

He _is_. Hopefully he'll be here for the rest of my life.

And gazing into his face...seeing his passionate, loving expression is when I know.

He is enough.

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**RoxyMoron on Ao3 said: "Definitely Prompting you for their first night!"** Now I don't really accept prompts on or Archive, but she said this before the promptathalon, so I decided to do this for her :) This is more fluff then anything.

Warm lips pepper my face with kisses. "Wh—what?" I murmur, waking and stirring in Rumford's lap. We boarded the private jet a while ago...and I remember slipping into his lap and feeling his arms pull me close. Then he'd whispered in my ear, urging me to rest.

The party had sucked all of my energy away. All the talking, celebrating, and dancing... There was no way I could do that every night, and by the end of it, I was so happy to be going on our honeymoon.

Two weeks alone. Canoodling. I can't imagine a better situation.

"We're about to land, my sweet," Rumford purrs, kissing my lips. "I didn't want to wake you, but the attendant said we had to get you snapped in."

I blink, stretch, and feel the bones in my back crack. "How long was I asleep?" I ask, voice slightly slurred. A chuckle is his response, then another quick kiss. He sweeps back strands of my hair and grins, his eyes bright with happiness.

"About four or five hours," he answers. "Though I was asleep for most of the flight as well..." He grabs my left hand with his, linking our fingers together in a lover's hold. Our rings glitter in the dim light of the plane's cabin. His is gold and plain, while mine glows with a medium-sized blue diamond. When I first laid eyes on the thing, I'd almost fainted. I'd thought it was insane to be giving me something so priceless. But I hadn't had the heart to deny it in front of everyone. I think Rumford planned on that.

Now all I can do is stare at it in wonder. Playfully, I slap my husband's chest with my free hand. He raises his eyebrows and waits for me to explain. "I think you planned on everyone's presence keeping me from declining this ring," I announce, nodding at our joined hands. "How could you give me something like th—"

Rumford silences me with a lingering kiss. "My wife deserves nothing but the best." He looks like he's about to continue talking, but a muted ding sounds. His arms tighten briefly before he lets go. "All right, my love. Time to snap in."

When I get to my feet, I wobble. Rumford has to grab my hips to keep me steady. He watches me carefully as I walk over to my abandoned seat and sit down. Only when I'm snapped in does he relax into his seat. Though, he doesn't look calm because his eyes have a heat in them. He looks entranced. Full of pent up desire.

And it's no wonder really. We've been waiting so long for this night. It also doesn't help that I sat and shifted in his lap the whole ride.

The jet's landing is smooth, and I can't help but peer out the small, circular windows while it coasts down the runway. It's too dark outside to see anything or make sense of where we are. "Where are we?" I ask him, turning in my seat to see him watching my actions.

He smirks. "It's supposed to be a surprise. Remember?"

The familiar itch of curiosity washes over me. "You're despicable," I mutter half-heartedly. He chuckles, but the soft laughter dies when I decide to unsnap. The attendant is nowhere in sight. She probably won't be back until the jet is done driving on the landing strip. So I decide to tease my husband like he has teased me these past few months...except this is going to be the purest form of revenge.

Slowly, I approach his seat, sashaying my hips and doing my best to appear seductive. It works (like that's a surprise); I've always had Rumford wrapped around my finger. He gulps at my obvious display and even jerks in his seat when I straddle his legs. "Two can play at this game," I growl lowly, feeling completely in power at the sight of his eyes darkening.

His hands immediately move to my waist. "Oh really?" It's a challenge.

Bad move, I think mischievously. I lean forward, one hand on his shoulder to steady myself, the other fisting in his hair, and give him a kiss that's all fire and passion. He groans and returns my ministrations with equal fervor. His fingers tighten their hold on my sides.

Too easy. Despite my best efforts, I can't hide the smile that graces my lips while we kiss. He is so predictable, my husband. And I love him for it... If he remains in this state of adoration for the rest of his life, I know I will always love him. How can a woman not love a man who worships her and loves her with his whole being?

The click of the flight attendant's heels sound somewhere near the cockpit, and I know she's about to reenter the cabin. Feeling incredibly wicked, I grind myself down on Rumford before clambering off and reclaiming my seat.

Rumford makes an unmanly (though he'd never admit it) noise in the back of his throat. He looks disheveled, disbelieving when I raise my an eyebrow at him from the safety of my seat. "You cruel witch," he cries, struggling to unsnap himself so he can likely pounce on me—though I'm not sure how that would turn out with people present.

Just as he frees himself, the attendant walks back in. From the carefree look on her face, she clearly has no idea what we were doing a moment ago. Rumford has no choice but to sit back down. It takes all of my willpower not to laugh when he discretely shifts in his seat and crosses his leg. "Mr. Gold," the young attendant addresses him. "We will be disembarking soon. Your car is waiting just outside the hanger."

"Thank you," he says. The attendant walks out, once again leaving us alone.

"Something wrong?" I wonder innocently, seeing Rumford's impassioned look.

He gives me a crooked smile. "Not at all, Belle. I look forward to tonight."

Now it's my turn to swallow uneasily. Tonight will be entirely different and new. I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous.

While Rumford seems more than ready to consummate our marriage, I still struggle to cast off the feeling that we'll be breaking the law. All of a sudden this is open to us, and it's slightly jarring. Yet even though I'm off-kilter, I want this just as much as he does. "Only when you've told me where we are," I say, flirting with him. "I think I've waited long enough."

He nods, still looking devilish, and only stands once the attendant gives him the go ahead. The jet stops moving and I look outside to see it moved into a large hanger built for expensive, private planes. "What time is it here?"

Rumford grabs my coat, drapes it over his arm, and offers his hand. I take it without hesitation, feeling the reassurance of his grasp. "Almost eleven o'clock, and our destination is only about forty minutes away."

The cabin door to the jet is opened and we're allowed to step down the walkway. Warmth encompasses us and I'm startled, though not surprised. I'd guessed we were going somewhere warm. Also, it was around ten o'clock in the evening when we'd left the east coast. We had to be somewhere on the west coast or further.

A sleek car—just like the one Rumford drives back home—waits outside the hanger. Personnel have already loaded our luggage into the backseat and trunk. My husband opens my door and grabs my hand to ease me inside. In minutes we're out of the airport and merging on to a quiet highway.

Palm trees line the sides. Stars shine down from overhead. The moon glows magnificently in the night sky, casting a familiar luminescence over everything. "It's so beautiful," I say, claiming Rumford's right hand once he's shifted to the top gear.

"The night sky?"

I link our fingers. "Yes, but I was talking about the moon... Red used to ask me what I liked more: the stars or the moon. I always loved the stars, but I had an even deeper love for the moon. Just knowing that for the past thousands of years, people have been looking at the same moon I am right now... The stars are always changing, exploding, and forming, but the moon stays relatively the same. I think that's fascinating."

We're on the highway for another fifteen minutes before Rumford takes a quieter exit and drives along an almost untouched road. Ten minutes pass, then we break through the tunnel of dense trees, and a whole new scene comes up on my right.

I look out the passenger window, and freeze. The moonlight leaves no question as to what I'm seeing, and I nearly forget to breathe. Rumford's gentle voice is what reminds me to take deep breaths, "I told you I'd show you the ocean."

And there it is, an expanse of dark, glittering water that extends all the way out to the horizon. Small waves—maybe they're huge, but they're small at this distance—crash against the beach and shift further out. White sand vanishes beneath the waves' seeking fingers... Before I can stop myself, I roll down my window. The smell of salt, clean air, and something else fills my nose. It can only be the smell of the ocean. "The Pacific?" I ask above the quiet roar of the breeze.

"The Pacific," my husband agrees, taking his eyes off the road when we hit a straight-shot. He looks into my eyes and smiles. "We're in what the Old States used to call 'Hawaii'." He returns his attention to the empty road and has to let go of my hand when we slow down. "This whole beach, Belle, is ours for two weeks."

"Ours?" My voice sounds incredulous.

"Ours." He turns on to a secluded, private road, and heads toward the beach. Palm trees and underbrush line the long sandy driveway.

It isn't until we've driven about a mile until we reach our supposed destination: a ridiculously wealthy-looking beach cabin. The cabin only reaches one floor but encompasses a great length and stretches out long. My guess is that it's made of expensive wood and strong glass (for much of it is glass overlooking the ocean). "Like it?" Rumford asks, putting the car in park.

"We have this all to ourselves for two weeks?" I can hardly believe it, yet now that I'm a member of the Inner Society, I guess I shouldn't be as surprised.

He grins at my disbelief, and then gives me a quick peck on the lips. "We don't have to unload the car tonight—just grab one or two bags and I'll carry in the rest tomorrow. Oh...and there's the beach beyond." He points off to the side of the cabin, indicating a sand walkway.

With dazed actions, I step out of the car. Rumford grabs one of our smaller, shared suitcases out of the back seat and waits until I've grabbed our backpack with toiletries before closing the door. He locks the car with a wave of the keys.

We walk up to the cabin and reach its shining doors. "Stay right there," he says, unlocking one. He leaves the door open, abandons the suitcase in the lobby of the cabin, and walks back outside, swinging me up into his arms. At my cry of shock, he laughs. "Before we explore the cabin...do you want to go down to the beach?"

"What about our things?" I question, gesturing to the suitcase and backpack now resting in on the floor.

A familiar, teasing sparkle glints in Rumford's eyes. "Oh they'll be here when we get back." He sets me down on my feet. My eyes rove over the interior of the cabin, and I'm just stunned at the grandeur of the place. It looks nice on the outside but inside, it's a whole new world of expensive wood furniture, soft carpets, and glass tables.

"Okay."

I let him tug me out the back door and down the sand walkway. Often, he looks back as if to make sure I'm real—that I'm following him. For a moment, we brave the cool sand in our shoes, but then Rumford kicks his off. He holds my elbow as I do the same with my sandals.

The feel of the shifting, chilled grains of sand beneath my feet is something else. It's new. Other worldly. And I love it. "We're all alone out here?"

"All alone," he repeats in agreement. "Not another soul within miles, my love."

Being alone is a pleasant, new feeling. It seems like a blessing, really, when I think about how often we've been surrounded by family or friends making sure we didn't get into trouble. Now we can get into 'trouble' whenever we want. How much we want. Wherever we want.

The modest, easy flowing dress I wear does little to shield me of the cool breeze. The wind nips at my bare arms and long legs, but it's only partially uncomfortable because Rumford is warm and close. He wraps an arm around my waist when we reach the beachfront. "Isn't it spectacular?"

"It is," I whisper, watching the waves lap gently at the beach. The rhythmic 'shhing' of the waves approaching then receding is so calming...so refreshing. "It's hard to believe I've never seen this before in person." I pull away and walk toward the foaming water. And I probably look foolish for dipping a toe in.

I don't care.

The water is lukewarm—warmer than I thought it would be. Tomorrow, when the sun is out warming the sand, I'll make a point of taking a swim.

Rumford's arms snake around my waist. He presses my back flat against his chest and rests his chin on my shoulder. "Are you happy, Belle?" we wonders, voice breathing in my ear. His words are strangely reminiscent of our first date in the meadow. I remember telling him I thought I could be happy, that I could love him.

Nudging his head with my own, I murmur, "I love you."

It's the response he is apparently looking for.

His arms tighten...his lips press to the underside of my chin. "We should go back to the cabin." The kisses increase and lower from my jaw to my neck. "Belle..."

And even though I'm nervous, I return his kisses and lead the way back to the cabin.

We quickly find our bedroom.

* * *

**Anon prompted: Matched!AU "Have them developing feelings for each other after the marriage."** So I used this to present a new side to their relationship. Rated T.

I waken to the feeling of a hand trailing up my hip. The hand barely touches my sensitive skin, its fingers brushing over the goosebumps forming at the touch. When it skims upward and tickles my cheek, I reflexively slap at it and end up smacking myself in the face. Laughter erupts to my right. "Stop," I murmur, giggling. I try to turn over. My husband has other ideas, though, because he maneuvers so one of his legs is between mine.

"Good morning," he whispers, kissing my bare collarbone.

"You're terrible..."

"Mmhmm," he hums, pressing open-mouthed kisses to my neck. "Your stomach was growling in your sleep, love. I thought I'd treat you to breakfast...or we can—" He hisses the wicked things he wants to do to me in my ear.

I laugh and push at his shoulders. "Breakfast!" Even though I'd love to spend the rest of the morning with Rumford in our bed, I want to enjoy breakfast. Maybe a shower might do me some good too. Last night...well, I think I need a shower after last night.

It's been this way for a week. And I'm so happy we have another week all to ourselves. The day our honeymoon ends...I'll be sad. This easiness between us feels amazing. This discovery of each other is beyond anything I've ever known.

Rumford submits with a groan. He edges to his side of the bed and slips out from underneath the bed clothes. I feel incredibly naughty staring at his stark naked form, so it's sort of a blessing and a curse when he pulls on a pair of shorts. "As my wife commands..." He winks then exits our bedroom.

For a moment I just lay there and soak in the morning. Then I'm up on my feet, picking up our discarded clothes from the floor. I grab a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt from my suitcase. At the last second I remember to snatch some underwear before heading into our bathroom.

It's taken some time getting used to, but I've learned this past week not to lock the door behind me. Rumford might want to come in and get ready for the day—or join me under the warm, comforting spray.

Sure enough, he enters a few minutes later after I've brushed my teeth and stepped into the shower. "I thought you were making breakfast," I tease above the hum of the water. He grins and brushes his teeth. With his chest bare, I can't help but stare, though I try to hide my gaze by washing my body.

"I started breakfast. Scrambled eggs are on the stove."

The shower's glass door slides aside and I give a small shriek of surprise. "Rumford! You'll get water everywhere." He's ditched the shorts on the tiled floor outside the stall. "What about breakfast?"

"I can be quick," he says, smirking. I roll my eyes. Both of us naked in the shower and it's our honeymoon. What does he think will happen? Or maybe he already knows what's going to happen and has planned this all along. The sneaky bastard.

"Well in that case, I'll step out." I move to open the shower but he catches my wrist and tugs me close. His eyes are dark. He looks...impish.

"Oh no you don't."

"Oh yes I do," I challenge, but it's a playful taunt. "Someone needs to make sure our breakfast isn't burned."

My husband tugs me to his chest, slowly guiding me backward until my back is against the cool tile of the shower's walls. "Well thank God we're in no short supply of eggs," he teases, giving me a deep kiss that is utterly filthy.

He's so wonderful... So perfect, and when he lifts me so I'm straddling his hips and sheaths himself home, there is no other place in the world I'd rather be then with him. Here. And now...

We end up burning the eggs.


	10. Birthday Celebrations and Expecting

**firebird1812 asked: Matched!AU "What if Belle discovered if was Rumford's birthday and gets him something small"**

"Where are we going?" Rumford asks, laughing. The blindfold he wears keeps him from breaking the link of our hands. "Belle, I told you I didn't want anything for my birthday." Yes, he's said that plenty of times, but I'll be damned if I don't do something for my husband on this day of celebration.

Squeezing his hand, I guide him through the trees and subtly try to hold a picnic basket with accompanying blanket in my other hand. "So you mean to tell me that for _my _birthday, if I told you not to do anything, you wouldn't plan something anyway?" I wonder. His silence speaks volumes. Of course he would do something.

"Sweetheart—"

"Shh," I silence him gently. He has never had anyone do something special for his birthday—outside of his family that is. "Just enjoy it, hmm?" My voice takes on a sultry tone and I pause to whisper in his ear. "And maybe if you're good...we'll see what can be done back at the house."

Rumford stiffens, then grips my hand hard before brushing his thumb over my knuckles. I laugh and tug him along. We're almost there, and I'm actually shocked I remember the way to the meadow. Maybe Rumford's even caught on to where we are going. I wouldn't be surprised if he has by now.

We march through the same copse of trees we went through nearly a year ago. And suddenly the vibrant meadow is before us, peppered with all sorts of colors and flowers. Nothing has changed. "Okay, you can take off your blindfold now..." I whisper, for I don't want to disturb the peace. He releases my hand to untie the blindfold and when it's off, he lets it drop to his side. I stare into his dark eyes, his soft expression as he soaks in our surroundings.

"This is wonderful, Belle..." he says, eyes drifting to my face. He leans over to take the burden of the picnic basket into his strong hands. When the basket is settled carefully in the grass, he pulls me close and gives me a sweet kiss. "Just like our first date."

"Mhmm," I murmur, leaning into him.

Slowly, we make our way over patches of flowers to find a good spot to set the blanket down. He holds the basket in one hand and catches my hand in the other. "My parents invited us over for dinner tonight. Do you want to go?"

"Of course," I say without hesitation. Mr. and Mrs. Gold have been wonderful this past month, helping us get situated in our new house and lifestyle while at the same time giving us space. I've never been more grateful for their generosity. "It's good to stop in and say hi."

"You mean it's good to get out every once in a while," Rumford teases, waggling his eyebrows. His meaning is clear. And I can't stop the blush rising in my cheeks or the cough itching in my throat.

"Yes, I suppose so," I agree, voice higher than normal. "It's good to get out of the house." Ignoring his light chuckle, I spread out the blanket in a grassy area and sit down. For the past few weeks, we've been cooped up in the house—caught up in our own bodies and desires. In that time, I've found nothing as addicting as what we do.

Rumford eases down beside me, dropping the basket next to us. He brushes back loose stands of my hair. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about, love," he whispers, kissing my forehead. He doesn't pressure me further and opens the lid to the basket.

The sandwiches I made are simple but the brownies I baked were a labor of love; it took a lot of sneaking around in the morning to put them in the oven and hide them. When Rumford pulls them out, a gleam appears in his eyes. He's absolutely taken with my cooking and baking skills. "You're trying to make fat."

Laughter springs from my lips. "Eat and don't complain," I warn playfully, smacking his chest.

With much effort and distractions, we get through the sandwiches and supplied grapes. We talk of everything—of the house and paints we're using, the bedrooms we'll furnish, our friends, and our families... After our honeymoon, Rumford surprised me with a house situated deep in forests not far from here. The exterior was more cabin-like and modern then his parent's house, but the interior reflected that of Gold Manor's. When I'd first seen the house, I was shocked. It was so huge...and there was only going to be the two of us. But Rumford had assured me that we'd fill the house up soon enough. He's looking forward to having our children run about...but that's at least a year down the road.

"Thank you for lunch," he says once he's eaten two or three brownies and can no longer stuff more down. He lays back on the blanket then turns his head to watch me finish my first one off.

"You're welcome..." Careful not to crush his fingers, I slide back and curl into his side. His heartbeat is a steady thrum in my ear, and it's reassuring. Something I've gotten used to hearing.

When his fingers start caressing my side, I close my eyes and allow myself to be lulled into peace. "We won't stay long at my parents," Rumford promises, fingertips moving up my arm to tickle the vulnerable skin of my neck. "Just dinner, a little chit-chat, and then home."

"Do you like our privacy, Mr. Gold?" I murmur with my eyes closed. His tender ministrations have coaxed me into running my own hand up and down his chest.

My husband chuckles, the sound deep in his chest, and with my ear pressed there, I can hear it. He shifts, cupping the back of my head while he maneuvers so he's leaning over me. "I do, Mrs. Gold. I quite enjoy our privacy," he hisses against my lips, giving me a kiss. "Especially right now."

"Here?" I ask, giggling. It's not really a complaint because my hands are carding through his hair and I'm returning his kiss with fervor. "What if someone finds us?"

He scoffs audibly. "There are only a few people in this world who know of this meadow. I highly doubt it."

I start to protest as his left hand skims up my shirt, "Oh r—"

"What about my birthday gift?" he teases, "I've been good, haven't I?" He stops his open-mouthed kisses and sneaking hand, and laughs at my expression.

A whine builds in my throat. Because he knows I want this and won't deny him. God, I'm too easy. "You don't play fair."

"Do I ever?"

"No."

**afanofdeduction prompted: Matched!AU "Could you do Matched AU where Belle tell Rumford she's pregnant"**

I stare at the pregnancy test in my hands, unaware that my mouth is hanging open in shock... And if the butterflies fluttering in my stomach are anything to go by, excitement races through my veins.

I'd thought a baby would come later, but according to the stick in my hand, Rumford and I are now expecting. The evidence is clear in the simple word that labels the stick: pregnant. There is nothing to dispute because it's so obvious, yet I can't help but try again. And when the next test says the same answer, I nearly collapse with joy.

Honestly, I think I'm a fool for not seeing this coming. Rumford and I have been going at it like rabbits with no thought of slowing down or pacing ourselves. Really, it's astonishing it has taken us this long to conceive, though I'm fairly certain I've been pregnant for at least a month and a half. I had been so caught up in everything, I'd hardly noticed when my period was two weeks late until a day ago.

Of course Rumford probably has no idea... He is a man after all; he wouldn't notice or care to notice these things.

I can hear him moving downstairs right now, probably setting the table for dinner, and in my haste to run to him, I almost fall flat on my face. Of course, with my luck, I knock over a stack of books I've been amassing for the past four months in our bedroom. They fall to the ground, pounding hard on the wooden floorboards. "Belle?" Rumford calls, panic in his voice.

"I'm okay!" I say, feeling like an idiot. God, I'm so stupid. Clumsy and stupid.

Rumford doesn't hear my feeble response. "Belle!" he repeats, and I hear him frantically sprint up the stairs. He bangs open the door, his amber eyes searching the room. They land on me sitting against the side of our bed. "What happened? Are you okay?" he asks, by my side in a flash. His gentle hands cup my face, turning my head to see if there's any damage.

"I'm fine," I reassure him, touching his cheek. He looks so worried with his eyes roving over my features and hands roaming down my sides. The sad truth is he'd definitely be freaking out if he knew I was pregnant. He'd probably already have me at the hospital by now. The man is so paranoid.

It's not something I'll make fun of, though. He's never had someone like me to protect or take care of, so I can't blame him when he fusses. He has so much to lose.

"You didn't hit your head?"

"I'm fine," I repeat firmly, gesturing to the novels scattered all over the floor. "I just tripped and knocked over all my books."

He smiles, though it's a little shaky. "You do love your books," he whispers. It's true. In these past few months, we've worked hard to make our library exactly like Gold Manor's. In fact, we've worked hard on the entire house.

Everything is planned out. We've painted the walls dark, enticing colors and are still working on adding extensive furniture to match. The whole house has rich, rosewood flooring, except in the basement. The wood floors stretch all three top levels, even in the completed attic where Rumford has helped me install a telescope and office.

We've even started to furnish the other bedrooms on our floor, but now we're going to have to convert one into a nursery. A nursery... "I do," I agree, allowing my husband to lift me onto the edge of the bed. He then moves to retrieve the books from the floor. "Rumford, I have to tell you—" But I don't finish because he freezes, picks up the pregnancy test lying beside the books, and turns to look at me. His expression is slack-jawed. Awed.

"Belle?"

"I was going to tell you but I got ahead of myself..." I tell him gently, taking his hands (which are still holding the pregnancy test) in my own. He looks stunned, as if I've smacked him in the face. "I'm pregnant."

I feel slightly foolish for saying the obvious—as if the pregnancy test isn't proof enough. But I know the words need to be said. They are important and hold a finality that nothing else can express. It's amazing how two simple words hold so much power to change our lives...

A grin breaks across Rumford's face. He reaches out to brush his knuckles down my cheek before pulling me in a fierce hug. "That's wonderful," he murmurs, voice uncharacteristically uneven. And it's only when I feel hot tears splash my neck that I realize he's crying. "Oh, Belle."

A rush of intense feeling washes over me and suddenly, I'm crying too. It's just that we've talked of this so often—of starting a family and having a brood—and now it's finally happening. We're going to be parents. We're going to have a baby.

I'm about to say "I love you" when he stiffens and pulls away. "And you fell?" he wonders, sounding hoarse. Oh boy... "Belle—you could have—something might have—you have to be more careful, sweetheart!"

Again, I feel foolish under his severe gaze. This is not exactly how I pictured breaking the news to him. "I know," I say, squeezing his forearms. "I'm sorry... I was just so excited and I tripped..." He clutches me closer. "...but I caught myself. I'm fine. I promise."

Rumford frowns, but he leans down to press a tender kiss to my lips. He keeps one hand at the small of my back while the other presses against my abdomen where our baby will grow. "I love you," he whispers in my ear. With the utmost care, he guides me to our bed. We slip onto it, and I tuck my back against his chest.

"I love you too..." I murmur as his right hand sneaks over my waist and under my shirt. Slowly, he begins caressing my belly.

We'll have to move sometime and go downstairs, but for now, we simply hold each other. And I can't help but think about how we'll break the news to the Golds and my parents. The Golds and my mother will be ecstatic, surely, but I'm not quite sure about my father. Yet, I don't care what he thinks.

Nothing can destroy this moment...

We cuddle until hunger calls us from our trance.

**A/N: Sorry it's taken me this long to add this in. I'm taking a break from Tumblr and other things, and I forgot to update :P **


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